


Pillars of Heaven

by maximumsuckage



Series: Dreamscape [3]
Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Archangels, Asgard, Brotherly Love, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Gabriel (Supernatural) is Loki, Gabriel Being Gabriel, Heaven, Hurt/Comfort, Jack is adorable, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Past Rape/Non-con, Plot, Slow Burn, but not explicitly described, for all the other tags, i love how that's a tag tbh, is it still bromance if they were banging, it's in the loki/svadilfari myth, thorki bromance, which isn't a spoiler it's just part of the background, yeah I feel like this is def a bromance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-04-26 16:22:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14405919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximumsuckage/pseuds/maximumsuckage
Summary: The remaining archangels are at their lowest point; Michael has been tortured into insanity by the Cage, Raphael has been removed from Heaven, and Gabriel is tormented by his pagan past.Jack is coming into his own, but as his power grows, so do his questions, and Loki's children are the only ones with answers; if only they weren't dealing with their own woes.Asgard is in turmoil after the deaths of Loki and Odin eight years before; the truth of Odin's unknowingly harboring an archangel has poisoned the minds of the people against the throne. Thor struggles to hold power in the face of his own grief and a new player in the court.





	1. Chapter 1

_The throne room of Asgard_

“It’s true.  I have built so many walls.  The walls of Jericho, remember them?  I built those.  I built them to specifically fall when the trumpets played a specific note; that’s how good my walls are!  They’re great walls, really incredible walls, and they’ll keep the dark elves out of Asgard.  That’s right!  No more dark elves tainting our people, and, even better, we’ll have the dark elves _pay_ for the wall, that’s right!  Not a cent of Asgardian money will come from your pock-”

“Shut up!”  Thunder crashed overhead as Thor stood from Odin’s throne, static lightning crackling down his arms.  “Shut up, horse!  We don’t need your walls!  What we need is a diplomatic solution to a simple trade disagreement.” 

Svadilfari paused in his speech to the rest of the court, turning around to smile at Thor.  “You don’t think a wall is the right solution?  What do you suggest then?  A feast?  Maybe merriment and communal drunkenness will make the dark elves see that we’re all just some friendly people, right?”

Thor opened his mouth to respond that, no, what they needed was for somebody to go write up new papers and boundaries on the tariffs, but the horse god was on a roll.  “Or maybe, Thor, God of Thunder, you’ll just take your hammer and smash in the skull of the dark elf king and start a war.  You like wars, don’t you?  You’re a warrior god, the word is in the name.  Isn’t that right, my Aesir and Vanir friends?”

He held his arms up, and there was some scattered clapping.  Thor’s jaw clenched, but to his relief, Freyr and Freya were exchanging uncertain looks.  And off to the side was Sleipnir, silent as always, watching his father talk. 

Just the sight of Svadilfari made Thor’s blood pressure rise.  He’d hoped the bastard was dead.  Ages ago, of the pair of them, Thor was the warrior and Loki the diplomat.  Loki was useless in a fight but could talk on his feet like nobody’s business; Thor couldn’t spin a speech to save his life, but he could take out an army with one swipe of his hammer. 

And, one day, ages and ages ago, Loki’s quick talking hadn’t been enough, and Thor hadn’t been around to save his best friend. 

And Sleipnir, now, Sleipnir had brought the criminal into the court.  And if that wasn’t bad enough, now people were listening to him.  And they’d had so many troubles with the dark elves in the past, even Thor had to admit simply cutting them off seemed an okay plan (it had to be a metaphorical wall, right?).  But he was king of not only Asgard, but the other nine realms, and it was not his place to make those nine realms into eight. 

So, while the dark elves were jacking up the prices of their stones and precious jewels so that the other eight realms had to pay through the nose for basic items such as rune stones and building materials, causing them to raise prices in turn, making the common folk unable to afford anything, the court of Asgard sat around talking about walls. 

And Thor had no idea how to make them stop.

“Would you truly trust Thor, God of Thunder, to fix our economy?”  Svadilfari turned back to the crowd.  “The muscle bound brute can’t even keep track of his own hammer, for Valhalla’s sake!  And his father before him- remember when he granted the title of Asgardian prince to a deceiving coward?  Loki was no Asgardian, and yet Odin forced all of you to bend to her will.  The will of an archangel whore.” 

He spat, and Thor lunged- to do what, he didn’t know, tackle? punch?- but a strong hand grabbed his arm, squeezing tight, and Sleipnir’s eyes- Loki’s warm, honey-whiskey eyes- narrowed.  “Do not touch my father.”

“Loki is dead,” Thor spat from behind Sleipnir’s arm.  “Do not talk about him.”

There was a susurrance of murmurs through the room, and Svadilfari shook his head sadly.  “Listen,” he said, turning back to the crowd.  “I’m not like you.  I came from humble roots.  A common worker.  But Loki- nay- _Gabriel_ \- hurt me as much as she hurt any of you, because she knew my modest place prevented me from defending myself.  She took my son from me, banned me from my people forever.  And it was Odin who gave her that power, Odin who brought her into your midst.  So, I only ask you, would you trust Thor to make these decisions for you?  Thor Odinson, who knows only violence?  Or would you ask my son and myself, who know the people, understand what you all feel and hope and desire?”

 

_At the bunker_

Gabriel was awoken by gentle hands trying to pick him up.  Sam needn’t have helped; as soon as he tried, the archangel made an unattractive noise and awkwardly swiped at the spit smearing his cheek and Baby’s seat.  “Wha’, potty break?” 

“No, we’re back.”  Sam reached out to help him out of the car, though physically, Gabriel’s vessel was fine.  But Gabriel wasn’t adverse to the contact.  “You actually slept through all three gas station stops.”

“And you didn’t wake me?”  Gabriel pouted, rubbing drool off onto his sleeve.  And then he straightened, eyes suddenly wide, before he saw the boy from the circus in Dean’s arms.  He relaxed slightly and rubbed his eyes.  “What’s this dump anyways?”

“Um, Men of Letters bunker,” Sam said, walking forward towards the stairs that led down to the door.  “It’s-”

“Oh, right, the boring place in your dreams.”  Gabriel stopped, standing just above the stairs, watching as everyone else walked through the door.  “You guys have fun.  I’ll just wait here.”

Suddenly everybody was looking back at him.  It was a little jarring, how they all moved in sync like that.  “C’mon, Gabe,” Dean said, tossing his head towards the bunker.  “We’ve got extra space, and you’re tiny- we can just shove you into a closet.”

“Can’t shove me into a closet when there’s a giant Fuck-Off-Loki ward around the place.”  Gabriel leaned against the car, crossing his arms.  “I mean, it’s fine.  Just leave me with a bowl of water and I’ll hang out here and chew the fleas on my ass.” 

Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he glanced at Sam.  “Go find the ward that’s keeping your boyfriend outside before he trashes the car.”

“Ooh, Sammy, I’m your boyfriend now?”

Sam shot Dean a glare and vanished into the bunker, but Gabriel could sense his heartrate shoot up at the words.  He smirked happily to himself and poked at his own grace- it was still weak, but a day of sleeping meant that he was at least feeling better.  A couple night’s sleep, a few good meals, and he’d be back up to, well, maybe not full archangel, but definitely juiced up badass. 

It didn’t take too long until Gabriel felt the ward fall, and he was able to walk inside, stepping down the stairs.  All the wards rustled against his feathers, and immediately he felt on edge.

Although, maybe he just felt on edge because Castiel was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, looking like he either was about to admit that he was pregnant with Dean’s baby or poop himself.  Possibly both. 

“Am I about to get a lecture?”  Gabriel paused on the bottom step, so he would be slightly above Castiel’s eye level.  “Because I’m still not in the mood for-”

“Your two youngest children are alive.”

Gabriel blinked, mouth still open.

Castiel’s eyes flicked away.  “I should have told you earlier, but Dean was in danger-”

“Hey, you guys okay?”  Sam stepped in.  “Good, I was worried there was another ward.  Gabe, you okay?  You look pale-”

Gabriel stepped back up step, eyes fixed on Castiel.  “No-no-no- you’re lying, don’t you _fucking lie to me Castiel_ -”

“Gabriel, your true voice will hurt Sam-”

 _CASTIEL_ -

Castiel winced.  “I’m not lying to you, Gabriel.  But you’re not strong enough to fly there yourself.  I can take you-”

Gabriel was gone before he’d finished the sentence.

 

_Hell, the Cage_

Raphael took a breath.  Michael was not going to be coerced down from the ledge by sweet words or cajoling alone, and the hellfire was beginning to make her feathers tingle.  Gabriel had given her an address, a safe house, and they could deal with the repercussions when they arrived. 

Michael screamed when she grabbed her, curling in on himself, wailing as he tried to twist away.  Bars on the cage cracked; chunks of rock fell from the ceiling.

And Raphael clamped a hand over his mouth and took off. 

They landed in the middle of a hardwood floor, and Michael broke away, throwing himself into the corner between an arm chair and a wall.  His wings and hands hid his face as he quivered.  This time, Raphael let him stay.  He could take his moment now; he could take all the time in the world now, because, for the first time, they had nowhere to be.

That thought stopped Raphael short as she stepped into the spacious open room that held the dining room and the kitchen.  Though the entire wall was glass, overlooking a crystalline lake that reflected the myriad of fall colors painting the trees, Raphael saw none of it. 

She had nowhere to be. 

Her breath caught at that.  She was… was _free_ the correct term?  _Free falling_ , maybe.  She felt as though she’d left her stomach somewhere in Heaven, and her grace ached to return to the throne room and gather the angels. 

And yet, none of them were her supporters, and if they chose not to follow her, well, not even an archangel could put down a mutiny of every single angel in Heaven, even if the numbers had been drastically reduced.  She had no responsibilities now; they had been forcibly taken from her by Castiel’s leviathans.  How did Gabriel enjoy this?  How did he deal with being untethered from the duties of Heaven?

She pressed her fingers to her temples, taking a breath.  She had not completely been stripped of responsibility though; Michael was in the next room, broken and trembling.  Gabriel’s wards were strong around the place- she doubted that any being would be able to see that there was even a house here, if they even ventured this far into the wilderness.  It would be a safe place for him to recover, and then-

And then, she didn’t know. 

She was saved from contemplating the possibility of an eternity without Heaven by the front door’s opening- either Michael was leaving, or somebody was coming in.  And she doubted Michael was together enough to figure out a doorknob right now. 

“Dad, this better be you, because I’ve got trip spells all over the place to keep people from stealing your crap!  And if it’s not Loki-”

Raphael crossed through the rooms, quickly finding the main room, where a man had walked into the house, comfortable as though he belonged there.  A key dangled from his fingers. “Fenrir,” she said, raising an eyebrow.  “I did not expect this place to be guarded.”

“And I didn’t expect another archangel to trip the wards, dearest aunt,” Fenrir replied, crossing his arms and leaning against the door.  “What are you doing here?  You’re two hundred miles from the nearest town- no lobotomy patients out here.”

“A lobotomy is a crude form of reconditioning,” Raphael said, tilting her head.  “Although, I understand for an uneducated pagan, that it is all you can comprehend, so I’ll let the colloquialism slide.  This is a very… quaint place.  It was created by your father?”

Fenrir snorted, gesturing wildly.  “Please, you think Loki has the patience to build a mansion in the middle of the woods?  It was some old rich mortal.  His body’s still here, by the way.  Little bit of pagan decoration, courtesy of your archangel brother.”

Raphael didn’t rise to the bait and ask where the body was, though she did wrinkle her nose in disgust- killing a human was one thing, but simply leaving the corpse like a piece of trash meant for shock value?  She would have to have a talk with Gabriel (after she cleaned up whatever remained of the skeleton). 

Fenrir took that as a win, apparently, and started to walk past her, deeper into the house.  “Actually, I’m not here to kick you out, whatever you’re doing.  Dad’s back- he can mind his own toys if he’s worried.  I’m just here for a spell book.”

“A spell book.”  Raphael sighed- it figured that Gabriel had reduced himself to petty witchcraft as well.  “Take it and leave, then.  I have matters to attend that are beyond you.”

Fenrir paused in the open area of the dining room and kitchen, glancing back at Raphael.  The fall foliage outside the picture windows seemed to reflect off the gold of his eyes, a kaleidoscope reflected both outside and within him.  It was broken when he barked a laugh, tossing his head back.  “A matter beyond me?  Well I’ll just grab my witchy baby magick and leave then, huh?”

“That would be for the best.”  Raphael nodded, moving to stand between him and the doorway to the room Michael was hiding in.  “I would say that it was a pleasure, but I’m afraid I’ve been too worried about catching your fleas.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Fenrir said, stepping towards her to peer into the room beyond her.  “Ever since Loki started treating me with Advanticks, I’ve been clean.  What’re you hiding in there?  Oh, gods, don’t tell me it’s another Nephilim- Lucifer’s boy is already enough cute for one generation.”

Lucifer’s boy being called ‘cute’ startled her out of a comeback.  He was a flame, in her eyes, a burning tongue of Holy Spirit and star shine, a creature that could grow to support an entire planet of life or burn it from the sky.  Cute?  That wasn’t anywhere close to what Jack Kelly truly was.  “He is not.”

Fenrir tried to step past her, but she moved into his way, eyes narrowed.  He was taller than her vessel- obnoxious that Gabriel’s penchant for small bodies apparently didn’t apply to his children as well.  She suddenly missed her former vessel.  “You don’t think the kiddo’s cute?” he asked, tilting his head- ah, and that was an angel gesture right there.  “Are you kidding?  With those big fluffy wings and puppy eyes?  He’s adorable.  You guys got good genes- all archangel babies are adorable.” 

Something flickered in his expression, so quick that were Raphael not an angel, she would have missed it.  His eyes flicked down, his jaw tensed, his very grace flickered with an ancient wrath that made her take a step back.  He was the wolf, a creature that was ancient as the forests and as terrible as nature itself, and he was angry- so very angry-

And then it was gone.  Raphael’s grace was cold, but she held her ground.  “Your brothers.”

Fenrir smiled, and it seemed to Raphael that his canines were more pointed than they should be on a human.  “Listen,” he said, and there was no jest in his tone.  “We couldn’t protect Vali and Nari- but Jack deserves the shot they never got.  And I’ll fight to make sure he gets that.”

 

_The walls of Asgard_

The cool breeze played through his hair, but it did nothing to calm the fire in his veins.  Thor’s hands clenched against the ancient stone- stone that Loki had given innocence for, had given fucking mental well-being for-

How many times had the trickster god crawled into his bed after that night, sobbing broken cries, whispering fractured words about wishing Sleipnir was Thor’s own child instead of some monster’s?  How many times had Loki denied that anything was wrong, even as the rest of the court chuckled about the boy’s parentage? 

How many times had Loki gone into a screaming rage to destroy any mortal on earth who would dare touch another against their will?

And Thor had so hoped Svadilfari was dead.  The man they’d initially contracted with, Svadilfari’s old business partner, had died ages ago, killed in some other squabble over another contract, but the horse had survived, kept away by wards that Thor now knew to be Enochian. 

Because Loki was an angel.  An archangel.

He dropped his forehead to the cool stone, wishing it would do something to stop the beginnings of the headache that was coming on. 

He missed Loki.  Missed the trickster so much that it hurt.  Even when Loki had escaped those chains and refused to return to Asgard, Thor had gone down to Midgard as much as Asgard could spare him.  He’d bring a six pack of beer for himself and sweet, fruity wines for Loki and crash at whatever place the trickster was staying.  It became an escape from Odin’s raven eyes, a time when he could set down his problems and simply be Thor, without the titles and their responsibilities. 

They’d been best friends.  The greatest bromance the world had ever known.

And yet, never once had the name _Gabriel_ come up.  Thor had asked Loki several times what he really was, and the closest he’d gotten was one night a century ago, in the back room of a speakeasy-

_Loki’s body was soft under Thor’s, pale in the lamplight, and he moaned at Thor’s hands kneading into tense muscles, his own fingers digging into Thor’s unbuttoned shirt. His eyes were bright, pupils blown wide in the dark room, and his tongue licked over his own lips as he bucked playful hips against Thor’s…_

_Thor hadn’t come to Midgard for sex, hadn’t expected it, not when Loki was seeing Kali the Destroyer herself, but he shoved Loki to the couch, leaned down to bite the trickster’s neck and dig nails into shoulder blades_ (where wings were anchored?) _and there was heat under his skin, Loki’s fingers tracing lines of tingling energy across his bare chest, trailing the heat lower until he was palming at Thor’s pants, grinning as he tried to excite the thunder god-_

_Loki was drunk, cheeks and nose pink, and Thor was sober- he should take a few shots until they were on the same level before they- but Loki’s shaking fingers were fumbling buttons…an impatient hand grasping at hot skin even before pants were kicked off… and Thor clenched his eyes shut, shoving a knee between Loki’s legs in retaliation to make the trickster toss his head and whine…_

_And yet Loki never stopped, shoving away tangled fabric, fingers slick with sweat, laughing as swift hand jerks melted Thor’s thoughts-_

_“Fuck, Lo- what even are you?”_

_And Loki threw his head back, laughed at that, drunk and happy and squirming under Thor’s weight, grinding down against Thor’s knee- “biggest sinner of all the saints- c’mon, Thor-”_

 “You’re a fucking idiot.”                                                  

Thor jumped, flushed at the memory, and looked over at Freya- which didn’t help, because he’d hooked up with her two nights ago.  He definitely needed to take a few nights off, because the more stressed he became, the more he day dreamed, and now he was turned on and sad at the same time, and that wasn’t fucking fair. 

“How am I an idiot this time, Freya?”

The goddess of beauty and love- and oh, was she beautiful, with round curves and waves of golden hair and that unconscious way she chewed her lip whenever she was thinking about something- did not look like a sex goddess right now.  No, right now she had her hands on voluptuous hips and Thor was pretty sure she was about to bodily toss him over the walls.

Under the sleek, luxurious appearance, the captain of the Valkyries was as quick and vicious and intelligent as one of her many cats.  It was a fifty/fifty shot whether Freya or Thor would win when it came down to an actual fight. 

He hoped they weren’t about to fight now. 

She took a deep breath, pressing her hands together in front of her chest as though in prayer.  She held the breath a moment, and then let it out.  “You tried to attack the fucker in front of the entire court.”

“He disrespected Lo-”

“We both miss Loki, Thor.”  Freya’s eyes narrowed.  “He was just as much my friend as yours.  And we both know what that bastard Svad did.  But you’re dropping the ball right now.  Where the fuck is your hammer?”

“It just vanished, I don’t-”

“You’re just a hot mess right now, aren’t you?”  Freya gestured wide.  “Do you know how much tension there is between the worlds right now?  Even Hela’s fucking involved, and she _always_ stays out of it!  There have been four skirmishes between her souls and the dark elves- _four_ , Thor!  And she’s not happy- you know how hard it is to rile up Hela?  Not fucking easy, I’ll tell you that-”

“I know, Freya!”  Thor pressed his fingers into his temples, trying to rub away the growing headache.  “I know!  I keep trying to think of what my father would do, but-”

“Well he wouldn’t have let things get this fucking bad-”

“I know, Freya!”  The words sounded stale, repeated a thousand times over the past eight years.  “I know!”

“And people _like_ Svad- don’t ask me how; he’s a fucking scumbag.  He grabbed my tit the other day and just _smiled_ , and I punched him, _obviously_ , and people fucking defended him?  Told me I should cover up-” She gestured to her chest.  “I fucking like my boobs, and nobody has had the fucking _nerve_ to grab me like that before.  I am fucking _royalty_.  I deserve respect-”

She paused, and took a deep breath, pressing her fingertips together once again.  “But he’s promising the people stability, and right now, we need _you_ to do that, Thor.  You are Odin’s heir, and you need to step up to the plate.  Because I am going to kill Svadilfari.  I let his presence slide until now because he was being quiet, but he’s getting too comfortable.”

“Freya-”

“I’m going to fucking nail him to this wall in Loki’s honor,” Freya said, tilting her head slightly.  There was a sweet smile on her lips at the idea.  “But first, I am going to cut off his penis and make him eat it- of course, there won’t be a lot to eat, so he’ll probably still die hungry, but that can’t be helped.”

Thor opened and closed his mouth once, but he knew that Freya was telling the truth, for the simple reason that he had seen her wrath before. 

“But people are going to be pissed when they see his corpse hanging there,” Freya said, stepping up to grab Thor’s face, to drag him down to her eye level.  “And you are Odin’s heir, so I need you to fucking step up to the plate.  Sleipnir is still loyal to Odin’s line- if you prove yourself, he _will_ stand behind you.”

Thor couldn’t speak- her grip was too tight, squishing his cheeks and messing up his beard.

“And I think that would be a better way to memorialize Loki, hmm?”  Freya’s eyes narrowed.  “Don’t fucking let Loki’s son end up idolizing that bastard because that’s the only option.  Don’t let Loki’s son fucking fall from grace.  Okay?  I don’t care if he’s half fucking archangel; he’s Loki’s _son_ , and right now, he can’t fucking trust you.  So fucking step up and be the father to him that Odin never was.”

She released Thor’s cheeks and turned sharply away.  “Maybe figure your shit out in the next… mmm, I dunno, couple weeks?  When everybody’s pissed about their new charismatic leader being assassinated by the prettiest goddess in the universe, you’ll be the only remaining leader, so I’ll let you prep up before I fucking slaughter the son of a bitch.”

Thor gulped and nodded. 

Next to him, one of Freya’s cats meowed, then hopped off the wall to follow its mistress.

 

_The Finger Lakes, Upstate New York_

“Listen- if it ever comes up, let’s just say we forgot, okay?”  Nari looked at the tiny flame in his hand, aching for Loki to tell him to be careful not to burn the house down, and then ask what new trick he wanted to learn.  “Mom’ll flip if she thinks we remember actually dying, but if we say we forgot, then there’s nothing to worry about.”

Vali lay on the bed beside him, red hair flopped back around his head like a halo.  “Sure,” he said as he looked up at the ceiling. 

Nari waited for him to say something else, still studying the flame.  Loki had been able to make it turn colors with barely a thought, but Nari could barely get it to burn white.  “Are you okay?  Because, I’m okay- I’m not mad or anything.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Val.  Say something.”

“Dad’s dead.”

The flame extinguished in Nari’s hands.

Both were silent for a long moment.  It was only interrupted by Vali sniffing once, sitting up, and half turning his body away from Nari.  “I mean,” he finally said, and his voice was too thick to be normal.  “What do we even do without him?”

Nari grit his teeth, clenching his fists.  “We don’t mope, okay?  You think Dad would want us moping about him?  We’re fine, okay?  We’re alive, and we’ve got Mom, so she can teach us about this new world, and we just… figure it out.  Like we always do.  Sleipnir’s being a dick, so we should find Thor’s hammer for him.  That’s what Dad would do.”

Vali was silent, and Nari reached out to nudge his shoulder.  “Hear me?  We’re fine.  It sucks, but we’re okay.”

Vali was still quiet, but he nodded sharply, rubbing his hand over his face. 

Their conversation was interrupted by the door opening.  Sigyn walked into the room, her hair down in blonde waves around her face.  Though she looked exactly the same as when Nari had last seen her, with not even an added line to attest to the centuries that had passed, her expression was heavier.  She had seen sorrow in her life, and Nari knew, with a pang of guilt, that he and his brother had been a part of that sorrow.

“Sorry I had to leave you two,” she said, walking forward to sit on the bed.  “There was a dinner party today that I had to sort out- all vegan, you know, and I had a whole fight with the leader about how there was meat prepped in our kitchen.  I mean, clearly, I have no trouble making a new menu, but we are clean- there was absolutely no crossover of meat and veg in their food…” She trailed off, looking between them.  “You guys doing okay?”

Vali nodded, but it was Nari who spoke.  “Yeah, Mom.  We’re good.  Um… we were thinking, we’ve been here for two days now, and we haven’t really seen anything except the back yard.”  He glanced at Vali, who made no response, and then looked back at his mother.  “Can you show us around?”

Sigyn blinked, then leapt up.  “Of course!  I completely- of course!  I don’t want you to think I’m keeping you cooped up here.  There’s just so much different, I didn’t want to overwhelm you both…”

“Relax, Mom.”  Vali interrupted them, reaching out to grab her hand.  Nari sensed him reach out in more than just a physical way.  He reached out with his very being, connecting with his mother on a metaphysical level, and Nari looked away, missing Loki so much that it hurt.  He loved his mother, of course, but Sigyn didn’t understand his magic like his father did, didn’t feel the fire of grace beneath the surface of her skin-

Sigyn blinked, her fingers closing tight around Vali’s hand, and nodded, her other hand moving to cover her mouth.  “Of course,” she said, taking a deep breath.  “Of course.  Come on.  I’m free for the day- I’ve got Sierra in the kitchen running everything.  I’ll take you on a drive.  The trees are beautiful this time of year, and we can grab milkshakes in town.”

 

_The Bunker_

Gabriel’s flight brought him a whopping quarter of a mile before he crashed, what little grace he’d regained during the nap depleted.  He fell back into the material plane, slammed into a tree, and let himself fall, and he didn’t know if his nose was bleeding from trying to fly or from hitting the tree. 

He couldn’t catch his breath, even as he curled his head towards his knees, digging his fingers in his hair, trying to get the images to vanish-

_A snarl, Vali’s voice, not Vali anymore you destroyed him- snarling- GOD STOP IT-_

Gabriel gagged on his own breath, toxic air, air that he didn’t deserve, and he had done it, he had killed them-

_Nari’s screaming, oh Nari, poor Nari with his books and outspoken words and magic spells, not Nari, God don’t touch Nari-_

He slammed a fist into the ground, grace coiling hot under his skin, burning him, burning his flesh-

_Hands holding him back, cold One-Eye watching him, Vali snarling- YOU DESTROYED HIM GOD BRING HIM BACK SAVE HIM MY BOY MY BOY VALI-_

It was his fault.  Loki had killed Baldur, Loki had killed Odin’s favorite, and an eye for an eye, that was what Gabriel the Messenger preached, the words of God Himself, and so he had killed his own boys by sharpening the mistletoe-

_NARI’S STILL ALIVE SAVE HIM SAVE MY BOY PLEASE I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I’M SORRY DON’T LET HIM DIE PLEASE ODIN ALLFATHER PLEASE FATHER FATHER PLEASE I’M SORRY-_

Sobs ripped through his chest and he didn’t know if he was gagging or crying and he couldn’t breathe because he had killed his own sons, killed his own boys-

_silence, and then snarls and bloodied teeth CHANGE HIM BACK GIVE HIM BACK TO ME MY BOY DON’T TAKE BOTH MY BOYS FATHER OH GOD I’M SORRY ODIN GOD STOP HIM PLEASE GOD PLEASE FATHER-_

Hands on him and he shoved, scrambling away, he couldn’t, not again, he couldn’t witness this, couldn’t witness the death of his boys- not even his boys, he had no right to them, Sigyn’s boys, they were Sigyn’s boys and he destroyed them-

_GIVE HIM BACK PLEASE GOD GOD GOD PLEASE FATHER I’M SORRY I’M SO SORRY PLEASE I’M A SINNER DON’T TAKE HIM FROM ME GIVE ME MY VALI MY NARI-_

Someone was talking, someone was rubbing his arms- he sobbed, grace hot, angry, desperate, collapsing into the touch

_Hey, hey Gabe, it’s okay Gabe, look at me, look at me now, okay?  I need you to breathe for me, can you do that, Gabe?  Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s just me, it’s Sam, you know me-_

“My boys,” he whispered, breathless, pitching forward into Sam’s chest, fingers curling into flannel.

Sam rubbed his back, kneeling in the dirt beside him, and there was blood on his shoulder- Gabriel’s nose was bleeding, when had it started bleeding?  His grace hurt, his entire being hurt, his body hurt-

Still, Sam spoke, soft, reassuring words that Gabriel didn’t deserve.  “You heard Castiel,” Sam whispered, rubbing Gabriel’s back.  “They’re alive, okay?  I read the myth- I know about you- it wasn’t your fault, Gabe.  It wasn’t your fault.”

And it was his fault, it was entirely his fault, because he killed Baldur, killed his own sons, but Gabriel couldn’t even breathe, let alone talk, and his grace burned fever hot under his skin and Odin was dead now but what did that bring?

Raphael shouldn’t have brought him back.  He curled his fingers in Sam’s shirt, burying his face so no light reached his eyes.  Raphael should have left him to rot- even that was too good for him- but what else was there?  Vali and Nari were only two in a long list of failures- he was a coward, could never fight.

Vali and Nari, Lucifer, Sigyn, Thor, Sam, Kali, even his living children… he had failed them all and more, had abandoned them, had used them, and yet still he used Sam, pressing his face into soft fabric and hard muscle, counting the heartbeats under his cheek-

Grace was hot as hellfire and he wanted to scream wanted blood wanted death, but he remained in Sam’s arms, shaking. 

He had killed his youngest sons. 

And now they were back.

And he couldn’t face them.

Because what harm could something as small and innocent as mistletoe bring?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I have given you all some more trash enjoy 
> 
> Also Neil Gaiman's Norse Mythology is A+++ so far I just laid down and read 100 pages today and I haven't done that since high school I thought the reading part of my brain was broken

_Asgard_

“I need to go to Helheim.”  Thor sat on the edge of the bed, sharpening a sword with broad strokes of his arm.  “Hela is angry, and the dark elves are causing problems.  If I go there, and calm the problems between Helheim and Svartalfheim, maybe they’ll fix the commerce problems and we can put the economy back on a better track.”  The stone scraped across the already sharp blade, polishing out invisible flaws in the metal. 

Sif sat on the edge of the fireplace, slowly brushing through her golden tresses with a bejeweled comb.  She glanced up as he spoke, then looked back to her hair, at the spun gold locks curling around her fingers.  “Or you might enrage Hela and the dark elves and bring war.”

“Hela’s pretty calm,” Thor said, setting the stone aside and looking at the blade.  His face reflected in the steel.  He needed to trim his beard again, and the shadows under his eyes seemed to grow even as he studied himself.  “She doesn’t want war.  She wants to be left at peace with her souls, and I for one don’t want those souls wandering Yggdrasil if she ever decides to sic them on the dark elves.  Better to nip this one in the bud.”

“And who will watch Asgard while you’re gone?”  Sif continued to comb her hair, using her fingers to smooth any larger tangles before smoothing through the strands with the comb.  “Frigga?”

“Heimdall’s got a knack for it,” Thor said, reaching across the bed for the scabbard to put the sword away.  “But Frigga is just as good.  Whichever of them wants, I guess.  I wouldn’t be gone for more than a few days anyways.  But I need to do something before this situation gets out of hand.”

Sif was quiet for a moment, and then she set the comb aside and got up to kneel on the bed behind him, pressing her thumbs into his shoulders.  He closed his eyes, taking a breath.  “Aye, woman, that’s nice.”

“You’re still worried about the horse,” Sif said, moving her hands about his shoulders, digging into the muscles as she had done countless times before.  “Svadilfari.”

“I hate him.”

“But he speaks well.  The common Aesir and Vanir love him.”  Sif pressed the heel of her hand into the tensest part of his shoulders, but it was rare that he ever completely relaxed anymore.  “But they have to know that he’s nothing more than a workman who signed up for a couple public speaking seminars.  Or if they don’t, they’ll figure it out.”

Thor leaned back against her.  She was tiny next to him, slender as an elf, but she held his weight, wrapping her arms around his ribs as she knelt behind him.  “Loki would know what to do,” he murmured.  “Or Father.”

Sif sighed, and leaned forward to kiss his cheek.  “You aren’t your father, Thor.  Nobody expects you to be him. You simply need to apply your strengths to the problems at hand.”

“What strengths?”  Thor turned his head so that their cheeks were pressed together.  “Everything I do- every time I try to fix something, it blows up in my face.  The dark elves are walking all over me right now, and I don’t know how to make them stop besides threatening their king.  But I don’t have my hammer, and I have no idea how many weapons they have now.  Father let them build as they would; they could have a nuclear arsenal stockpiled down in Svartalfheim and we would never know.”

Sif reached out to touch his cheek, running her fingers over his beard.  “I know it’s hard,” she murmured, and kissed his cheek again.  “But if anybody can do it, you can.  You’ve done the impossible before, you know.  And it takes a great deal of humility to admit when you’re not sure what to do.”

He grunted at her, narrowing his eyes.  “Humility isn’t something I need right now.”

She sighed, stroking fingers over his beard.  “Take Sleipnir with you, at least.  I don’t feel comfortable with you traveling to Helheim alone.  The road is dangerous.  Will you be taking the path through Midgard?”

“Probably.”  He closed his eyes, leaning against her.  “Keep an eye on Freya.  She’s angry with Svadilfari.  He insulted her.”

Sif’s grip on Thor tightened.  “Oh?”

“You know I love you.”  Thor rolled his eyes and elbowed her.  “I’m serious here.  Svadilfari grabbed her the other day, and she’s on the war path.  Don’t let her do anything until I get back, or the PR will be-”

“Stop sleeping with her then.”

Thor blinked, pulling away so he could turn and face her.  “What?”

“Stop sleeping with her.”  Sif sat back on the bed, kneeling as she studied Thor’s face.  “I’m your wife, Thor.  I should be enough.  I’m sure Freya is just a _superb_ lay, but if you want me to help you with her-”

“Woman!”  Thor threw a hand outwards in an incredulous shrug.  “You know, it’s not like this is one way.  I don’t have any problems with you having your fun either.”

“Loki and I shared one night and you keep bringing it up-”

Thor held up a hand.  “This doesn’t have anything to do with- wait- you and Loki?”

Sif looked away, jaw clenched. 

“Sif, babe-” Thor let out a laugh, sitting back on the bed. “How did I not know that?  When was this?” 

She looked away, letting her hair fall in front of her suddenly bright red face, and muttered something under her breath. 

“What?  Sif, I’m not mad- I’m serious, you can do whatever you want here.  You’re my wife, not my property-”

“ _He cut off my hair_.”

Thor blinked.  “Oh.  _Ooooh_.  Oooh, that explains how he managed to get so close-”

“It isn’t _funny_ , husband.”  She turned away, running her fingers through her hair like she was reassuring herself that it was still there.  Thor wasn’t sure if her eyes looked shiny from the firelight or from unshed tears. 

“Such a vain creature,” he murmured, and reached out to pull her into his arms.  She resisted for only a moment, before relaxing against him.  “Fine, fine.  I didn’t realize you were so upset- we can play the monogamy game for a bit.  Is that okay?  Please, Sif, don’t be mad.  I don’t want you mad at me.”

It was her turn to respond with little more than a hum.  “I knew you were stressed, so I tried to ignore it, but you brought her to _our_ bed the other night, and-”

He rubbed one hand up and down her back.  “I’m sorry, babe.  I didn’t mean for… I’m sorry.  You’re beautiful, you know that?  There’s a reason I married you and not Freya.  Freya’s just, whatever, but you?  You’re the most beautiful woman in all the realms, and smart too, like a whip, and-”

She silenced him with the barest ghost of a kiss across his lips.  “Please don’t try to seduce me like you do your other maidens.”

He studied her face, waiting to see if she was angry, but she only kissed him again, then got up.  “I’ll have a servant pack your bag.  Sleep, love.  You’ll need it if you’re traveling tomorrow.”

“Do I get-”

“I’m mad at you,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.  “No.  Maybe when you get back.  If you can avoid tripping and accidently impregnating a Midgardian on your way to Helheim.”

“There’s no accident about it,” he grumbled under his breath.  She gave him another warning look over her shoulder, and he sighed.  “You’re beautiful, babe!”

“I know.  Sleep, husband.  I’ll wake you in the morning.”

 

_The Bunker_

“Your eyes aren’t red anymore.”  Sam leaned against a tree, watching Gabriel as he paced.  “But Gabe, it’s really okay- we’ve all been there.  You went through-”

Gabriel held up a fist.  “Shut.  Up.  Sam.  No more talk about it, okay?  Just- I look fine?”

His nose was still red, but that could have simply been inflammation from crashing, and not a debilitating panic attack.  “Yeah, but Gabe, if you want to talk-”

“I don’t.”

“But if you did-”

“If you say one more thing about it, I’ll leave, and you’ll never see me again.”

Sam blinked, and slowly closed his mouth, reminding himself for the umpteenth time that he didn’t truly know Gabriel, didn’t know the odds that he was bluffing on that threat.  “Okay.  That’s okay.  It’s your choice.  Come on back to the bunker though.  We can get dinner.”

He hesitated, glaring at Sam.  Sam carefully held out a hand, like he were talking to a frightened dog.  “It’s okay, Gabe.  It’s really okay.  Nobody here is going to hurt you.”

The glare lasted only a few more moments, before he slumped a little.  Sam knew that he’d caved.  “Come on.  I know angels don’t need to eat, but I’ve seen you do it enough times that I know you like it.  What do you want for dinner, pancakes?  Ice cream?  You deserve ice cream after the day you’ve had.”

He shrugged, but did take a step closer to the door of the bunker.  “I think Dean’s got some Ben and Jerry’s in the freezer,” Sam said, slowly leading him back.  “And I know Jack will approve of dessert night.  You know, as long as it doesn’t become a habit.  I’ve been trying to read parenting books, and they all say to start the good habits early-”

Gabriel let out a snort at that, glancing over.  “Parenting books?  You?”

Sam made a face at him.  “Well, yeah.  Cas was dead, and Dean was- it doesn’t matter.  Someone had to-”

Gabriel held up a hand to make him stop.  “No, no, I mean that _you_ of all people don’t need parenting books.”

“It’s not like I have much experience.”  Sam shrugged awkwardly, reaching out to push a tree branch out of their way, holding it so it wouldn’t smack Gabriel.  “Not that it’s really helping.  There’s not many books on how to deal with a six month old who looks twenty and acts twelve and is as powerful as an atom bomb.”

“More like an exploding star.”  Gabriel corrected.  “If he had a tantrum, he could take out the planet quicker than the Death Star.  But you, of all people, don’t need to worry about that.  You’re a good guy, Sam.” 

They were simple words, but the way Gabriel was looking at him was not simple at all.  There was something more in his gaze, something deeper, and Sam swallowed hard.  “I don’t know-”

“You are.”  Suddenly, Gabriel was very close.  One of his hands rested on Sam’s cheek.  “I know Justice, Sam.  On a cosmic level that your tiny human brain will never comprehend.  You’re a Good Person.  I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

Sam looked down at Gabriel, not sure how to respond, not sure the words that he could use to explain to a cosmic creature older than the material universe that he was not a good person, that he had been touched by a demon and damned by a thousand years of angelic manipulation, that the very heavens themselves were against-

And Gabriel’s mouth was on his, lips chapped and salty with dried tears, and Sam flailed in surprise, even as Gabriel made an amused, wordless sound and wrapped an arm around Sam’s waist. 

He recovered, closing his eyes, wrapping his arms around the smaller man- no- the archangel, this ageless, eternal being, and his heart skipped as he realized that _an archangel was kissing him_ -

And it was strange, kissing a man, but it didn’t feel wrong, because it was _Gabriel_ , and-

“Relax.”  Gabriel broke the kiss, looking up at Sam, eyebrows raised in a question.  “Unless you’re not- oh, gods, if I totally misread this whole thing, then my bad-”

Sam blinked, shaking his head.  “No, no, I just didn’t think-”

Gabriel hesitated, raising an eyebrow.  “I mean, I’m not gonna be mad if you’re not into this, I know, humans and monsters, kinda a weird mix, but I-”

“Can I kiss you again?”  And his voice _cracked_ , like a dumb teenager, and Gabriel laughed, and Sam blushed, looking away, only for Gabriel to catch his mouth again.

And this time, they were kissing for real.  Sam caught up Gabriel in his arms, and the archangel melted into him, arms up around Sam’s shoulders.  He was warm, hotter than a person should be, and Sam could feel angel grace sparking against his mouth, could taste ozone and salt even as Gabriel gently bit at his lower lip-

“Hey, Sam, you find- fucking hell, guys.”

Sam whirled away, eyes wide as he looked over at Dean.  “I- uh-”

“Ouch.  That’s rough, Sammich.”  Gabriel smacked his arm good-naturedly and then stepped towards the bunker.  “I heard there was ice cream?”

Sam rubbed at his mouth, lips feeling rough and chapped (though it hadn’t been a long kiss, so the rubbing was probably worse than the actual kissing) and swallowed.  “Hey, Dean, it wasn’t-”

Dean just ran a hand down his face.  “We’ll talk later.  Just get inside so I can lock the doors for the night.”

Feeling like he’d been caught doing something dirty, Sam followed his brother back into the bunker.  He didn’t dare look over at Gabriel, not until the archangel deliberately tried to slip through the front door at the same time as Sam, catching his shoulder against Sam’s rib and grinning up at him.  And Sam, despite himself, grinned back, butterflies flaring in his stomach at the thought of Gabriel’s grace on his mouth.

And then Gabriel was back to business, trotting down the stairs and catching Dean’s eye.  “Where’s the kiddo?”

“Kitchen.”  Dean nodded.  “Down that hall there.  Door’s open.  There’s a hot chocolate on the counter for you- you seem like a Bailey’s guy.  Figured you needed it.  You might need to microwave it.”

Gabriel tilted his head, and for a moment Sam thought he was going to snap again, but he simply patted Dean’s arm once as he wordlessly headed to the kitchen.  

Dean intersected Sam before he could follow, and Sam took a breath.  “Look, Dean-”

“Be careful.”

That hadn’t been what Sam was expecting at all.  “Be careful?  Of what?”

Dean lowered his voice, and gestured down the hall.  “Gabriel’s not exactly the goodest of the good guys here.  He gets points for saving the kid, but he also _tortured_ you, Sam.”

“He was trying to show us something-”

“He was a dick.”  Dean took a breath.  “I don’t want to see another-”

“Ruby?”

Dean fell silent, and Sam’s eyes narrowed.  “Look, dude, he’s not a demon.  And I dunno if you missed that, but he took a pretty big bullet for you on this case.  They tortured him.”

“I…” Dean blinked.  “Yeah, no… That was for me?  Um.”  He glanced down the hall again, jaw clenched.  “Dammit, Gabe… okay, look, do what makes you happy, but at the first sign of trouble, I want you out of it, okay?  Hey, maybe the guy’s turned over a new leaf.  We’ll see.”  He shook his head, doubtful.

Sam reached out and smacked his arm.  “Glad you care, jerk.”

“Be careful, bitch.”

 

_Upstate New York_

Sigyn and Nari were talking across the table.  Nari was dead set on his quest to find Thor’s missing hammer, but Vali just stirred his milkshake, quiet.  None of this felt real.  The little diner they were in, with its flashing lights and the music playing from some invisible source and the people dressed in shorts against the summer warmth that lingered even as the tree’s colors changed…

The only thing that felt real was the blood in his teeth, and he took a sip of the shake to try to wash it out, but how could one wash out an imagined taste?  The sugar just mixed with the blood, and his stomach clenched.

Sigyn didn’t even feel real.  Last Vali had seen his mother, she had been screaming, held back by one of Odin’s men as she tried to throw herself forward- and Vali had snarled at her, could remember snapping at her fingers before she was physically hauled away-

This woman they were sitting with now, she was not their mother.  Maybe she had been at one point, but now she was hardened, jaded, an immortal who had seen too much.  Her face still looked young, but her eyes were ancient, and part of that pain was Vali’s fault.  And Nari didn’t see that- no, Nari didn’t see any of it.  Nari had stopped moving too soon, had missed Loki’s wails, hadn’t seen skulls smashed by invisible wings-

He stirred the milkshake, looking down at the thick brown mixture, not at all hungry. 

Sigyn didn’t know where Mjolnir was, apparently.  She probably didn’t care much- Vali got the feeling that she hadn’t seen Loki or Thor in a very long time.  And who could blame her, really?  It wasn’t like Thor had been there for the murder, wasn’t like Thor had tried to stop Odin’s wrath. 

“Wait, Mjolnir?  Did you see the new movie?”  It was a boy at the booth next to them, turning around sharply when he heard Nari talking to Sigyn.  His eyes were big.  “You’re talking about _Ragnorak_ , right?  Okay, because I have this theory about the Grandmaster, and none of these guys believe me.”  He made an irritated gesture at the other boys at the table. 

How nice it must be, to simply hang out with a group of friends.  Vali studied them a moment, wondering what had happened to his group of friends, to the other Asgardian youths he had trained with.  They were probably all old or dead now.  None of them would have been frozen at thirteen, only to awaken eons later. 

“Ragnorak hasn’t happened yet,” Nari said, eyes narrowing.  And then he blinked, looking back at Sigyn.  “Right?”

“Our deaths were the first step to Ragnorak,” Vali interrupted, ignoring the Midgardian boys at the next table.  “And Dad’s dead.  What do you think?”

Sigyn frowned, leaning forward.  “Val, that prophecy was a lie-”

“That tutor you got me wouldn’t shut up about it.” 

The boy at the next table looked between them.  “I… guess you guys haven’t seen it yet… I’ll shut up.”

“Okay,” one of the others at the next table said.  “But there is no way that Loki and Jeff Goldblum were a couple-”

“No, but it would make sense!” The first boy insisted.  “Because he probably got picked up as a gladiator like Thor did-”

Sigyn hastily threw a few bills on the table.  “Let’s move this conversation to the car,” she said, and glanced at the next table over, shooting one of the Midgard boys a smile.  “No spoilers.”

The smile fell as soon as they were outside.  Vali hunched his shoulders, uncomfortable in the warmth.  He missed the icy wind that shrieked through the streets of Asgard, even in the dead of summer.  This was uncharacteristic weather, someone had already told them, but Sigyn liked it because it meant a few more customers before the cold hit. 

“What they were talking about isn’t real,” Sigyn said, leading them through the parking lot, past the cars that ran on dead dinosaurs instead of magic.  “It’s just one of the mortals’ stories.  I’m not even in it, so…” She shrugged a bit, and lay a hand on Vali’s shoulder.  “Ragnorak hasn’t come yet.  It never will, or if it will, it will be a thousand years from now.”

“So why’s Sleipnir trying to sic us on Thor?”  Vali shot a look at her.  “Because what better way to tip the balance of Ragnorak than to get the dead boys fighting?”

“Sleipnir is trying…” Sigyn blinked, and then her hand tightened on Vali’s shoulder.  “No.  Gods no, you’re not fighting anyone.  Neither of you.  You’re going to stay here with me and grow up and actually have a chance this time-” Her voice broke, and she looked upwards, blinking a few times.  Then she took a breath.  “Sleipnir has no say on what happens here.”

“He said-” Nari started, but Sigyn squished the boy to her side. 

“No,” she said, and there was bite to the word.  “I don’t give a fuck about what problems they’re having in Asgard, and neither should you two.  Asgard holds no sway over the world anymore, not since the Christians stamped out the old religions.  And you know?  That’s better for us.  It’s better because it means that Ragnorak will never happen.  It means you two are back with me, and it means that you two are free to make your own destinies.  You are no longer princes of Asgard.  You’re just boys.”

“Boys who were brutally murdered,” Vali corrected.

Sigyn’s eyes darkened.  “And that will never happen again.”

Vali tilted his head.  “No.  I don’t plan on it.”

 

_A mansion in the middle of the woods_

Michael’s head rested against the chair, his wings bedraggled and bleeding in places, his eyes closed.  He wasn’t sleeping though, his fractured grace still very aware of his surroundings.  Raphael knelt on the floor across the room, watching him. 

He was broken.  That much was clear.  If she reached for his grace, even the lightest touch caused him to jerk backwards, and there was no recognition in his eyes when he looked at her.  She had no idea how to even start to heal this.  The first step though, was clear.  She needed to gain his trust and make him relax enough so that she could even have a chance of analyzing the damage.

“He still not letting you touch him?”

Raphael jumped, then jerked around, narrowing her eyes at Fenrir.  “You said you were leaving.”

Fenrir held a spell book easily under one arm.  “I need to summon my sister, but one of my spies said Thor was on an expedition to Helheim anyways.  Figured I’d give him my message when he passes through Midgard, let him do the grunt work.”

“You have spies on Asgard?”

“Don’t you?”  Fenrir shrugged, then nodded at Michael.  “So what happened to that one?”

Raphael turned away from Fenrir, dismissing him.  “Nothing that concerns you, wolf.”

“You know, I am Gabriel’s firstborn son,” Fenrir said, rolling his eyes.  “You may want to show me a teensy bit of respect.”

“You are a pagan dog.”  Raphael glanced over at him again.  “You may have wings, but you’re a little more than half-breed abomination with too much power on his hands.”

“Strong words there, Auntie.”  Fenrir raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth rising in a smirk.  “I’m starting to understand why Dad skipped town on you guys.”

“You understand _nothing_.”  In a blink, Raphael was standing directly in front of him.  “Your father _abandoned_ us in our darkest moment and yet you _mock-_ ”

“It’s not like he didn’t love you guys.”

Raphael blinked, stunned into silence yet again, and Fenrir raised an eyebrow.  “Yeah, I wasn’t born that long after he left.  I used to catch him at night, staring up at the sky all mournful.  Didn’t have any idea what he was thinking about, but it makes sense now.  He stopped after Jör was born.  I think three kids finally exhausted him enough to make him start sleeping.”

The only sound in the room was the rustling of Michael’s feathers, and Raphael turned away.  “That would have been a decade, after he left?” 

Fenrir tilted his head, thinking.  “I dunno, thereabouts.  The three of us were born within ten or so years of each other.”

Raphael watched Michael’s chest rise and fall.  “He would have been disconnected from the power of the Heaven for too long,” she murmured.  “It wouldn’t have been his children exhausting him, but simply living under his own power, without the Host to draw from.” 

“Or that, I guess, but you should have seen Jör’s tantrums.  Kid did not want to eat his vegetables.  There were literal earthquakes.”

Raphael ignored him, eyes fixed on Michael.  He was playing with a thread on the edge of the chair now, running his fingers over it like he was trying to groom it back into place.  It hurt to watch. 

“Leave,” she said.

Fenrir blinked.  “Excuse me?  This isn’t your house-”

“ _Leave, dog_.”

He winced at the grace stabbing through the word, but that was nothing to the moan that Michael made across the room at the sudden outburst.

“Honestly,” he said as he walked towards the door, spell book still under his arm, “I dunno why you’re surprised that he booked it.  You guys are dicks.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and Raphael slipped back down to kneel on the floor, taking a slow breath. 

 

_The bunker_

Dean was rapidly moving from _Loki’s List of Annoying People_ to _Loki’s List of People Who Are Tolerable as Maybe Party Dudes or Drinking Buddies_.  Loki had a lot of lists.  Gabriel wasn’t sure if Gabriel had as many lists as Loki, and he as he considered the Bailey’s hot chocolate in his hands he wondered if this was what people called an identity crisis. 

Because now, he was definitely Gabriel- there was no way that Sam Winchester would kiss Loki Laufeyson.  Except despite being Gabriel, he was considering Loki’s grandchild, who was sitting on the kitchen table, silently studying a plate of Oreos like they were an interesting specimen with the potential for biting.

“Stop crisis-ing, Lie Smith,” he muttered into the cup of hot chocolate, and then he took a swig that burned his throat and set the mug down.  “Alrighty, kiddo.  How’s it going?”  He grinned, and sat down so that the boy was at a higher eye level than he was.

The boy looked from the cookies to him. 

“Hablas español?” he tried, hopefully.  The boy had a rich tan to his skin, and that with his curling dark hair suggested something of a Spanish descent, though without knowing his mother, Gabriel couldn’t be certain (and he also didn’t know how many generations the Gift of Tongues could last.  His children had it.  But over the years, it seemed a fifty fifty shot whether grandchildren got it). 

The boy still didn’t respond. 

Gabriel got up and grabbed his hot chocolate again, taking another sip before returning to the table with it.  “Alright, kiddo, that’s fine.  No need to talk.”  He reached out to swipe one of the boy’s Oreos.

The boy watched his hand, tracking the movement, although there was no fear as he watched Gabriel pull apart the two cookies and lick the frosting on the inside.  He waited a moment, then imitated Gabriel’s motion, picking up another cookie and breaking it apart in the same way.

Gabriel froze, and then grinned.  “That’s right, kiddo, sugar and artificial additives solve everything.” 

The boy licked the frosting, experimentally, and then his eyes lit up.  His grace wasn’t nearly as strong as a first generation Nephilim, diluted by human blood and the space of a generation, but it was there, enough to have made him into a terrifying weapon in the hands of a demon.  And now it was enough for Gabriel to reach out and connect to. 

The boy moved closer, so his legs were dangling off the edge of the table, and he licked the frosting again.  Gabriel studied his face- there was no way it wasn’t Jörmungand’s kid.  His irises were the same dominant gold that ran through the archangel line, but there was a distinct predatory shape to his pupils.  And there were Jörmungand’s freckles, though one had to look close to see them atop the richness of his skin, and he had the same long, lean body, like a runner, that the Serpent had as a child. 

And the thought made Gabriel clench a fist into his thigh to keep himself from screaming in frustration, because this child had been abandoned, and it hadn’t been the first son of the World Serpent that Gabriel had found wandering, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, and-

He took a deep breath.  And the boy was lost, and needed someone.  He would yell at Jörmungand later.  For now, the boy needed attention. 

“You have a name?” he asked, keeping his voice calm, pasting a smile on his face.  “I’m Loki.”  He pressed a hand to his own chest. 

The boy tilted his head, still licking the cookie with a tongue that was a bit too long. 

“Loki,” he repeated, fisting his hand against his chest.  “You got a name, kid?”  He pointed at the boy, tilting his head in clear questioning.

The boy looked at him a moment, then shook his head.

“You understand me though?”  Gabriel reached out to touch his hand.  “You don’t need to talk.  You can just nod.”

The boy nodded, eyes still fixed on Gabriel.

Gabriel took a deep breath.  “Okay.  Good, we can work with this.  Do you know who your mother is?”

He shook his head. 

“No name?”

He shook his head again.

“Would you like a name?”

He hesitated, then, very slowly, nodded, tilting his head so he was looking up at Gabriel from under his eyelashes. 

“Right, uh, okay.”  Gabriel took another sip of cocoa and Bailey’s, savoring the creaminess as he considered the boy.  “What about Sam?  Wait- no, I know a Sam.  How about… uh… what are the common ones nowadays?  Mike?  Nah, don’t need that karma on you.  Greg?  No, don’t like that.  Hey, Luciferson, Cassie, get over here and help me think of a good name for this kid.”

The footsteps in the hall stopped, and then Jack darted forward to the doorway, followed closely by Castiel.

The boy looked over at them, still quiet, though there was no fear in his eyes.  Clearly, after the long car ride, he had decided to trust the denizens of the bunker.  Gabriel was pleased with that- it was always easier to help someone when they wanted it (and it also meant that he could leave him behind for at least a bit when he went to see Sigyn (he refused to think the names Vali or Nari, lest he break down in front of the child)).

Jack smiled at the boy, and the boy smiled back.  “He doesn’t have a name?”

“We assumed you knew,” Castiel said, from where he stood a bit further away.  “He is your grandchild, after all.”

“Yeah, and I plan on having a long conversation with his dad.”  Gabriel smiled through his teeth, letting them all know that it was not going to be a pleasant reunion.  “For now, kiddo needs a good name.”

Jack studied him.  “What about Luke?”

“Like the apostle?”  Gabriel pursed his lips, looking down at the kid.  “Throwing the Bible stuff at my DNA right away, huh?”

“I meant like Luke Skywalker,” Jack said.

“Oh.”  Gabriel tilted his head, nodding slowly as he studied the boy.  “Luke.  Solid name.  Luke Skywalker, Luke Duke, Luke Danes, Luke Garroway.  Light Giving.  You like it?”

The boy shrugged, looking downwards.  His lips moved a little, forming the name, and then he looked up at them and nodded with a shy little smile. 

Jack beamed at that, and reached out to take a cookie off the plate for himself. 

 

_Asgard_

The sword slammed into the wooden pole, sending splinters flying, and Sleipnir grit his teeth as several bounced off his face and bare chest, though none cut him- he was untouchable, after all.  And then he swung the sword again, and again, and again, until his muscles were burning and his skin was dampened with sweat, and still he attacked, until the pole was little more than wood chips and the blade was blunted with the force. 

He stabbed the metal into the ground, using nothing more than raw strength, and then snatched up the towel from the watching servant to wipe the sweat from his face. 

“You are powerful, my son.”

Sleipnir slowly dropped the towel from his eyes, looking over at his father.  “Yes,” he agreed, eyes narrowing.  “Is there a reason you’re interrupting my work out?”

Svadilfari walked into the room, reaching out one hand to touch the pommel of the ruined sword.  “Thor is traveling to Helheim.”

Sleipnir raised an eyebrow.  “And this has to do with me because…”

“If he finds out about the dark elves-”

“If he finds out you and the dark elves are bedfellows, you mean?”  Sleipnir draped the towel around his neck.  “Don’t forget, Father, I am the one in control here.  You have spent the last several eons in Svartalfheim, hiding from Loki, while I have spent the last several eons at Odin’s hand.  In case you forgot our last conversation, this is not some father-son joyride taking over the world.  This is me, Sleipnir Lokison, picking up the pieces for _my_ people.”

Svadilfari’s fingers traced over the pommel of the sword, and he nodded.  “Of course, my boy.  Your loyalty to the people of Asgard astounds me every day.  It saddens me that this loyalty does not apply to me as well.”

“You are useful,” Sleipnir said, and pulled the towel from his neck to wipe his chest and back before reaching for the shirt hanging from a hook on the wall.  “You’re charismatic and see things from another point of view.  I respect that.  But I have gone for eons without a father, and eight years is not long enough to change that.”

He stepped towards the doorway, leaving Svadilfari in the center of the room.  “I’m going to shower, since apparently I’m going to Helheim in the morning.  Perhaps you should arrange with your Svartalfen friends that Thor not find out about your escapades.”

“Perhaps I shall,” Svadilfari agreed, inclining his head.

Sleipnir lingered in the doorway a moment.  “Maybe,” he finally said, “in the future, I can see you as my father.  These things take time.  Eight years isn’t long, next to an eternity.”

“Of course,” Svadilfari said, smiling lightly.  “Rest, son.  You have a long trip in the morning.”

Sleipnir hesitated another moment, then left.  Svadilfari watched him go, and then turned to the servant who stood, wide eyed in the corner.  “I trust none of what you heard will leave this room?”

“No sir,” the Asgardian said, nodding smartly.

“I agree.”  Svadilfari wrenched the dulled sword from the ground and hurled it.

The servant was dead before he hit the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I would just like to say that I am the only girl worthy of marrying Thor okay, like this fanfic is only that: a fanfic. And in real life, okay, nobody can love him like I can okay like me and the seductive lord of thunder are gonna go ride off into the sunset and smash skulls together so I would just like to make that clear as a disclaimer that IM NOT SHARING thanks this has been a PSA you're all invited to my wedding 
> 
> Also, just for the record, any typos you find are literally cause im in the last stretch of school and I'm not even proofreading my school papers anymore so sorry I'll catch more typos once my brain isn't mush anymore holy butts im graduating im freaking out cause all these papers are due and i keep forgetting, how the heck do people even grownup good thing im living with my parents til im 25 like everyone else in gen z lmao help me


	3. Chapter 3

****

_The bunker_

“Listen guys.”  Dean gestured widely with the beer.  “Good job.  Another case down.  But now, I mean…” He raised his beer in Castiel’s direction.  “Cas is back.  And if Cas is back, maybe Sam… maybe Sam is right.” 

 Sam looked up from the stir fry he was mixing on the stove.  The entire kitchen smelled like Spiedie Sauce.  “Right about what?”

“Mom.”  Dean took a sip of the beer and then set it down on the counter with a decisive clink.  “Maybe she’s still alive over there.”

Castiel was leaning against the table, watching Sam cook and Dean sneak butter into the leftover rice heating up on the back burner (Sam was pretending to not notice, but he’d admitted to Castiel that he’d separated a bowl of plain rice for himself because Dean always edited the food).  “Your mother?”

“Um, yeah.”  Sam mixed the stir fry again, though it probably didn’t need to be stirred.  “The, uh, the rift closed after you… died.  Mom and… Lucifer… went through and never came back.”  He turned sharply.  “But there’s still hope.  I mean, like Dean says.  You’re back.  And we have Jack, who we know has the power to open the rift.  And now-”

“And now we have Gabriel.”  Castiel finished the sentence, squinting slightly at the floor as he considered the connotations.  “Gabriel is skilled in the crafting of miniature universes.  He is low on power right now, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he knew how to create a doorway between larger universes.”

“Exactamundo.”  Dean raised his beer in Castiel’s direction.  “We got the Trickster.  So, the Trickster is gonna help us open a rift, grab mom, and slam it shut on Luci’s ass before he can jump through too.”

“Okay, Dean?”  Sam turned away from the stove.  “I see where you’re going with this, but Gabe just found out his kids are alive, and-”

“It sent him into a literal tailspin?”  Dean nodded.  “Yeah, yeah.  I get that.  His nose is still red.  Where were they again?”

“New York,” Castiel said.

Dean groaned.  “We were just there!  Okay, fine.  Another road trip.  I’ll just have to service Baby first-”

“Ew, dude, when you say it like that it sounds dirty.”  Sam shook his head and looked back down at the pan of vegetables.

“Baby is dirty.  She needs a bath.”  Dean shrugged and took another sip of beer. 

Castiel closed his eyes, taking a slow breath.  “I think you are both forgetting that I can fly.”

Dean raised his beer in Castiel’s direction again.  “There we go!  So you fly Gabe over, he can figure out his pagan babies- Wait.  Wait.”  Slowly, he set the beer down on the counter.  “Hold up.  His pagan babies are actually archangel babies.  Right?”

Sam and Castiel both nodded. 

Dean blinked.  “Shit.  Goddammit.  So wait, wait- how many archangel kids are running around?”

Sam glanced at Castiel.  “Um, the lore disagrees on the exact number.  And I haven’t asked yet.  But they’re really, really old.  Most of them.  I don’t think we have to worry about them if they haven’t ended the world yet.”

“You talking about Ragnorak?”  Dean took a long breath.  “Listen, good movie, but we are not doing that in real life.  Like, at all.  No wolves are eating the sun-”

“Skoll and Hati,” Sam supplied helpfully as he turned off the flame under his stir fry.  “Gabe’s grandsons, if the lore is right.  One of them will eat the sun, and one will eat the moon.”

Dean rubbed a hand over his face.  “Dude.  Dude, you’re dating a guy with grandkids.  He’s _old_.”

“We’re not dating!”  Sam winced and moved to grab plates out of the cupboard.  “We… kissed.  That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s true.  Gabriel is very amorous.  Physically.” Castiel said.

Sam winced again.  “Yeah… thanks Cas.  Listen, guys, just… he’s not in the best place right now.  I want Mom back too!  But before we start pressing Gabe, let’s get him over this speedbump.  Then we can ask him for help.” 

Dean nodded.  “Alright then.  Tomorrow, Cas, you take Gabe to see his kids, so he can get that out of his system, and then the next day we figure out how to get Mom back without bringing Luci back too.  Is dinner ready?”

Sam swallowed, wondering if it would truly be that easy, and nodded.  “Yeah.  One of you want to go grab Jack and Gabe and Luke?”

“Luke the _grand_ kid,” Dean said, pointing at Sam with his beer.

 

_Elsewhere in the Bunker_

“You’ll have to see Utgard someday.  Spent a lot of my childhood there.  It’s a giant city in Jotunheim- the front gates are tall as a cathedral.  Not that either of you have seen a cathedral.  But imagine a building the size of a mountain- that’s how tall the gates are.  And it’s all built of ice and stone, but the torches burn warm and their light reflects off the ice in the walls so even in the dead of winter, where nighttime lasts forever and the sun is forgotten, it glows so bright you can see it from a thousand miles away.”

The three were sitting on the floor, facing each other.  Luke was cuddled up to Gabriel’s side, his head resting on Gabriel’s chest, while Jack sat pretzel legged and leaned forward, soaking up the information like the world’s most eager sponge.  “What are the frost giants like?”

Castiel leaned in the doorway, unnoticed.  He’d been sent to call them in for dinner while Sam and Dean set the table, but he hesitated.  The two boys were engrossed with Gabriel’s speech, and the way Gabriel was grinning at his own tale- Castiel hadn’t seen that grin since long, long before Gabriel had left Heaven.

“Oh, the frost giants, the Jotunn, the people of Utgard?”  Gabriel leered, and passed a hand in front of his face.  His features shifted, deepening to a chilly, bloodless blue, and silver tattoos of slippery runes snaked up his skin.  “They’re a warlike bunch,” he said, voice dropping low.  Even Luke straightened up a bit, eyes big at the little bit of illusion magic.  “They’ll slit your throat over quarters for the parking meter.  And their queen, Laufey, she’s the worst of them all.”

The illusion dropped, bringing humanity back to his vessel.  “You call yourself ‘Laufeyson,’” Jack said, leaning forward. 

“That I do,” Gabriel said, inclining his head.  “Loki, son of Laufey.  And that isn’t a name I bear lightly- Utgard wasn’t always the glorious city it is today.  Eons ago, when I first fell to Jotunheim, it was a wretched place.   It was a land of eternal nights and frigid winds and snow drifts that could bury an entire camp and leave the denizens frozen solid by morning.”

Castiel moved back into the hall, so he could hear Gabriel’s voice without the archangel looking up and seeing him.  Jotunheim sounded a horrible place, and yet, Gabriel had chosen to remain there? 

“Then how?”  Jack’s voice was entranced in the story.  “Did you help build it?”

“That I did, kiddo, that I did.”  Gabriel chuckled, a pleased little sound that he’d used to make when the fledglings were playing with him.  It was a sound he’d once made all the time, back when Castiel had been little more than a fledgling himself, hanging off Gabriel’s every word.  It was a self-righteous sound, a sound that came only when everybody’s attention was on the trick or tale or lie that he was weaving, a sound that said he thought he was clever and that he was delighted that people recognized his cleverness.

And it hadn’t changed, simply adjusting itself to the timbre of Gabriel’s vessel.  It brought a lump to Castiel’s throat, because he didn’t even know how much gravity that tiny chuckle, a little noise that Gabriel himself probably wasn’t even aware of, held.  Because, to put it simply, it meant that Gabriel liked attention.  And if he had chosen these brutal frost giants over Heaven-

What would it have taken to make him stay?  More attention?  An encouraging word?  Or would Gabriel have left no matter what?”

“…and then, I just assume that it’s some abandoned hall, you know?  But it’s the weirdest shape.  And I say to myself, what kind of hall is just one long cavern with one alcove on the side?  But maybe the alcove was just for storage.  So I tell Thor, because at this point it is _freezing_ out.  Poor Thialfi is dead on his feet, and my fingers were so cold even with three pairs of gloves that I’m afraid they’re going to fall off…”

“But who did the hall belong to?”  Jack’s voice interrupted the story that Castiel had tuned into.  “You can’t just stay in a random person’s house.”

“Well, we _thought_ it was abandoned.”  Gabriel chuckled again, that same noise that hit Castiel like a sucker punch.  “So we build a fire, eat dinner, and go to sleep.  We’re all back to back to conserve body heat, and at this point, I am already so done with this trip.  So I shove my hands into Thialfi’s armpits to warm them up and fall asleep.  And I wake up, at like, three in the freaking morning, because someone has literally picked up the entire building and _dumped_ us out into the snow!”

“What- how?”

“It was a mitten!”  Gabriel laughed at his own punchline.  “This giant we met was so big that we literally set up camp _inside his mitten_ -”

Castiel stepped into the room then, interrupting story time.  “Dinner is ready,” he said. 

Jack hopped up.  “Yes!  You have to try Dean’s cooking, Uncle, it’s amazing.” 

“I plan on it.”  Gabriel grunted as he stood, still holding Luke on his hip.  “You okay there, Cassie?  You look constipated again.  Or is that just your natural face now?”

Castiel blinked, slowly, at the image of his older brother, standing there with a gold-eyed pagan boy on his hip.  For a moment, it seemed to him, that Gabriel looked more relaxed than he ever had in Heaven.  But perhaps that was only because it had been too long since Castiel had seen Gabriel in Heaven.  “That’s my face,” he said, turning away, “And the result of stress from trying to save the world without any other angel to help me.  Come.  Dinner is ready.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gabriel’s grin fall, and he hated himself for not feeling guilty at all.

 

_A mansion in the middle of the woods_

The sun was starting to go down, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and coppers and reds as vivid as the fall leaves themselves.  The colors blurred in the choppy reflection of the lake, creating an illusion of flame that drifted peacefully as the waves it was made of.  Raphael sat at the dining room table, watching the sun set, and she could see why Gabriel had liked this place enough to claim it as his own.  It was beautiful, out here, a shining example of God’s work, and Raphael could feel at peace.

Or at least, the potential for peace was there, because she could hear Michael in the next room over, humming to himself and continuing to rock back and forth on the floor. 

She leaned her elbow on her table, running a hand down her face.  She was a healer.  _The_ Healer.  This was nothing.  She had healed countless horrifying injuries before.  The war between Lucifer and Michael had come with brutal, unspeakable casualties.  Ripped wings and skulls cracked like eggs and grace devoured by holy flames… she had healed it all.

The mind was no different, truly.  The mind was simply an extension of grace, and she had healed that as well.  It took a thin probe, no greater than a hydrogen atom in width, and the most delicate touch to manipulate the grace into a more docile nature, to calm burning emotion back into cool intellect. 

But Raphael had no probe, unless she wanted to reduce herself to something thick and clunky like a needle, and if Michael fought back, she wouldn’t be able to anaesthetize him properly.  That could cause more damage.

Raphael had seen angels who had gone completely mad.  Sometimes, the safest thing to do was to put them down.  A mad angel with no control over its power could destroy the universe on little more than a whim. 

But for the moment, Michael was not acting aggressive, merely defensive.  And if she could break through the madness, get some glint of recognition out of his expression, then maybe there was hope that Michael, in his glory, could return. 

She sighed again, closing her eyes, and when she opened them, night had fallen fully.  Michael was still humming softly in the next room, a mingled mash of mortal songs and chants. 

There was a noise on the deck outside the house, and Raphael straightened, squinting at the darkness outside.  She couldn’t sense any danger, but-

A cat brushed up against the glass, eyes glowing bright as it looked at her.  It was a big, cold-weather cat, too intelligent for its own good no doubt.  When it caught sight of Raphael, it sat down and wrapped its huge fluffy tail neatly around its paws. 

Raphael reached out with her grace, but the cat was no more than a cat.  A cat that had spent some time around magic, absorbing some of it, but that was a common thing for cats.  Their species had spent far too much time in the laps of gods to be completely of the mortal plane. 

She took a step towards the living room, and the cat pawed the glass, meowing. 

Raphael paused, looking back, and then, calmly, walked over to the glass door, unlocked it, and pushed it open.  The cat blinked at her, then strolled inside, hopped up onto one of the chairs of the dining room table, and went to sleep. 

Raphael closed the sliding door, pausing to look at the cat.  For some reason, she had been expecting something more, but the animal was truly just napping. 

She shook her head, then walked to the living room, where Michael was leaning in the corner again.  “Hello, brother,” she murmured, sliding down to kneel in front of him.  “Do you recognize me?”

His wings were a mess of silver and green feathers that stuck together in ugly clumps between open sores.  His eyes were unfocused as he poked at the hardwood floor, scraping at it with bloodied fingernails.  There was a little splintery hole were he’d been working the same spot for the past several hours.

Raphael slid closer.  The humming stopped, and his eyes flicked up, fixing on her, though he didn’t yet look defensive. 

That was good enough.  If she got closer, he would hide again.

So she simply closed her eyes and knelt there, letting her grace drift, waiting.

Fourteen minutes and thirty-two seconds later, she felt something, but it wasn’t Michael.  Rather, it was something soft and heavy moving to her lap.  She opened her eyes, and looked down to find that the cat was pawing at her legs.  At the new presence, the humming stopped, though Michael showed no fear at the presence of the stray predator. 

Slowly, as to not startle the broken archangel, Raphael shifted so she was sitting rather than kneeling, crossing her legs.  The cat, pleased, crawled into her lap, curled up, and went back to sleep. 

Raphael touched its fur, and then set her hands down on the floor and closer her eyes, returning to her meditation as she waited for Michael to acclimate to her presence. 

The humming returned. 

And still, Raphael waited. 

There was a new sound now, a scratching noise, as Michael returned to his slow shredding of the floorboards.  Raphael ached to reach out and stop him, to prevent him shredding his fingers, but she did not move.  At this time was acclimation.  Perhaps tomorrow, she would try to touch him, or the next day. 

At the scritching, the cat twitched in her lap.  Raphael opened her eyes, looking down at the animal, but this time, it didn’t look at her.  It was looking up, green eyes fixed on Michael’s fingers. 

The tip of its tail twitched. 

Michael didn’t seem to notice, still scratching at the floor, picking out each splinter to flick it aside and then dig at the floorboards again.  His fingers were smearing blood into the wood.

The cat’s pupils grew until its eyes were black with the barest ring of green, and its muscles tensed.

Raphael grabbed its body to keep it from pouncing, but it bit her.  She jerked in surprise, and the cat burst forward, closing its teeth on Michael’s hand. 

The wail he let out hit Raphael like a punch, slammed her back into the floor.  The cat yowled as it was thrown against the wall.  It bounced off and landed on its feet, hissing. 

But it didn’t run.  Instead, like it had meant to throw itself back and slam into a wall, it hopped up on the arm of the couch, wrapped its tail around its paws, and surveyed the two archangels. 

Michael hid under his wings, and Raphael sighed, running a hand down her face.  It was going to be a long night.

 

_In the middle of the wilderness, somewhere far from society_

As twilight deepened, the deer began to venture out into the field, wary at first, then bolder.  They were large northern deer, with shaggy coats and big liquid eyes, and they broke through the crust of ice on top of the field to get at the plant life underneath, chewing at the hard grasses while a few of their number kept watch for predators. 

As they ate, they moved, always keeping close to the herd at the edge of the woods, so they could break for the cover of trees if need be.  But as the twilight deepened and nothing happened, they began to relax.  One of the younger ones nipped her twin sister, and a game of tag sprang up, the two yearlings darting about as frivolous as though they were safe in the zoo.

Far above, a crow cried out.  One of the older deer looked up at the call, then grunted at her fellows, flicking her tail so the white flashed like a beacon.  One more grunt, and she darted towards the woods, expecting her companions to follow. 

Most did, except for one, who had been chewing on a sweet patch of clover a bit further away.  It had been damaged by the frost, but it was still far more pleasant than the other raggedy northern grasses, and really, what did crows know?  It was probably nothing dangerous, probably no more than a human hiker, lost in the wilderness-

And she smelled wolf, and bolted, flashing white tail.  Teeth and claw ripped into her haunches.  She crashed down, thrashing under the weight of a dog.  White teeth flashed, blood spurted from her neck-

And she fell still, dead.  Though the hunt had been long, the kill had taken less than ten seconds.

Fenrir sat back on his haunches, muzzle spattered in blood, and howled.  Anything that smelled blood, any wolf or bear or wolverine would know that howl, would feel it chill them to their very marrow, and no predator would dare to scavenge until he had eaten his fill. 

And then he ate where she had fallen, there in the field, tearing off hot meat and ripping through tender organs.  She was gamey and raw and bloody and her sightless eyes reflected the moon as he held her down with his paw and ripped off a long strip of shoulder. 

The crow that had called a warning was watching him, from where it sat in a shrub in the field.  It was joined by two turkey vultures, and the three birds simply waited, knowing that the leftovers would be fruitful.  Fenrir licked bloody chops as he glanced up at them, and his tail wagged once in acknowledgement. 

The scavengers would feast, would suck the marrow from the bones his teeth had cracked, and they would be joined by the worms, those worms who would turn the soil so the plants could be fruitful, and the deer would then eat the plants.  And so the cycle would turn, from the beginning of time until the sun blinked out forever.  And Fenrir would be there to watch, to defend, and to continue. 

And so, when he had eaten his fill, he left the carcass, glistening black in the moonlit night, and he vanished into the woods.  The crow cawed again, and fluttered forward across the field, looking forward to filling its tiny belly. 

Fenrir padded through the darkness of the woods, and though he smelled like blood, the birds high in the trees never stopped their night songs.  A small pack of coyotes came across him- one yipped, and then they scattered, though he could still smell each one.  One picked up his blood trail, and then they were gone, off to join the crows in their feasting. 

Somewhere, looped around a tree branch and dangling to keep anything from eating it, was a satchel.  Fenrir shifted as he walked, straightening upright into a man’s form, blood sticky around his mouth and hands and hair shaggy from the long stalking of the herd.

He walked to a nearby creek, kneeling down to rinse his fingers and splash water over his face.  It was frigid, moving his fingers from pain to numbness, and he crossed his arms so they could warm in his armpits before he reached up to unloop the satchel’s strap from the tree branch. 

Then he sat, nestled between the giant roots of an ancient tree, and pulled pen and paper from the satchel.  He didn’t bother with a fire or a flashlight- he had no need of light, not when the moon’s silvery rays could reflect off his eyes and allow him to see as clearly as in day. 

He paused there, a moment, and closed his eyes as he decided what he was going to say.  And then he wrote:

_Dearest Sister_

_Father is alive.  Yes, I’m sure you’re as surprised as I am (that being, not at all).  Resurrection weakened him though, and he’s worried about backlash over the archangel identity.  But we both know him, and we both know that he grows bored too quickly to lay low for long, so I have little doubt that we will see him formally resurface sooner rather than later._

Here, he paused.  While Loki had told him an abridged version of his backstory and pain and indecision back in the motel, it seemed personal.  Fenrir didn’t know how to put it into words, and didn’t know if writing it down was even his right to do, even if the letter would only be read by Hela.  So he left out that information.  Hela and Loki could talk on their own.  Maybe they already had.

_The reason that I’m writing, however, is not our father, but a new Nephilim boy.  His name is Jack Kelly, son of Lucifer, and he is in need of a mentor.  His power is growing quickly, though he is not even a year, and I worry that he may become too much for the seraph currently attempting to train him.  Since he is our cousin, it falls to us, by our shared blood, to make sure that the boy is capable of both defending himself and controlling his powers to avoid raising the wrath of Heaven._

_Speaking of Heaven, sister, the angels wish to take Jack for themselves.  They are weak, ever since the Fall a few years back (I am sure your spies brought word of that), and they believe that Jack has the power to return them to their former glory.  Perhaps he does, but I would prefer he have a choice in the matter when he is one with his grace, rather than now while he sees himself to be a human with supernatural powers._

_Therefore, I am writing to you with the request that you take on the boy and provide the framework of his training.  Your wisdom in dealing with the dead and your natural ability to control your grace makes you the ideal teacher.  Your compassion and empathy will allow you to connect with the boy better than myself or J_ _örmungand ever could._

_Also, you should answer phone calls.  This letter writing is old fashioned.   If you are having too much trouble with the dwarves again, you know that any one of your younger brothers would be more than willing to spill blood on your behalf.  I haven’t had a good fight in decades and I am itching for blood._

_We will meet soon,_

_Fenrir_

 

_Heaven_

They couldn’t get Raphael’s blood out of the floor, no matter how many times they scrubbed it.  It remained there, a reddish stain on the marble, and Zadkiel considered it as he stood in the throne room, looking down at the mar. 

It was one of many mars on that floor, and it was the least violent.  Raphael was still alive, after all, if elsewhere.  The rest of the marks... all those burned wings…

It brought a lump to Zadkiel’s throat, but no amount of scrubbing would take the burns from the marble.  They remained, gruesome remnants of dead angels.  In some places, they overlapped so much that it was impossible to see how many had perished there. 

Zadkiel had considered, briefly, moving the main room to a different hall, a smaller hall.  This hall could hold the entire host, or rather, the entire host before the numbers had plummeted.  Now, the angels who gathered were a scruffy, sad bunch, their wings partially or completely burned from the fall, scars twisting their grace.  They were dark, jaded, and had watched countless brothers and sisters fall. 

Not one of them had been fond of Raphael, in terms of the archangel’s leadership, but Zadkiel could feel the wariness towards his leadership as well; if he failed, another angel would take his place.  Nobody trusted anybody, and the souls-

Actually, the souls were his biggest worry right now, more than Jack.  More and more souls came in each day, and Zadkiel was worn thin trying to make sure each was put into a memory box while sending out search parties for Jack and trying to patch the most damaged parts of Heaven and trying to keep everyone from killing each other.  They’d formed a backlog, and as he paced the hall of Heaven, Zadkiel wondered what would happen if he simply ignored the souls, allowed them to do as they would in the halls of Heaven.

It would be anarchy, he decided.  Definitely not what they wanted. 

He ran a hand down his face as he waited in the hall for the search party to return, but they were taking too long, and finally he gave up.  They could find him in the soul wing of Heaven- work needed to be done, whether Jack was found to create new angels or not. 

Azrael had already arrived with a new batch of souls.  The bag looked heavy on his slim shoulder, and the tight jeans and oversized hoodie he wore did nothing to make his vessel look larger or more powerful.  In fact, Zadkiel thought as he walked down the hall, watching a small group unload the souls, Azrael looked like little more than an older teenage boy, with dark floppy hair and sad eyes. 

There were two other angels already there as well- Karael and Eae. 

Karael wore a large, balding man from Earth, still dressed in a suit and tie, though he’d abandoned the jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt for work.  His beard was well trimmed and he had kind, though sad eyes- he looked like a father, or a kindly uncle, and that was how he treated the souls as he handled them, one by one.  He joked to them, laughed as he spun the memory box into something that would be suitable, even though the soul wasn’t aware of what was going on. 

His grace though, was near destroyed.  His wings were a mess of bone and grace with few feathers remaining, and though he’d metaphysically bandaged them, they looked painful to see.  His grace itself, his true form, was burned beyond recognition by the Fall and the subsequent fights on Earth, and between each soul he had to pause and rest.  It was slow work.  He would probably die within the century, though Zadkiel’s own grace cringed away from the thought.

Eae was far smaller than her compatriot, both in vessel and true form.  She’d been stationed on Earth during the Fall and so her wings were undamaged, but her eyes were haunted.  She had been a staunch supporter of Raphael and was a healer by trade, but most injuries ran so deep that all she could do now was reduce pain.  So she threw herself into the soul keeping, tears glistening in her eyes most of the time. 

She was a beautiful angel though- she was what the men in the Renaissance imagined them to be, with a soft body and plump lips and bright golden hair that spilled around wings that were white and fluffy as a cloud.  Every few moments she would stop and insist that Karael allow her to help him, but he would refuse and continue with his work, taking a soul, crafting the memories, and releasing it.  Then he’d take a break that was never longer than thirty seconds, and start again, even as Azrael unloaded more and more.

Zadkiel stepped right in, taking a soul into his own hands.  Eae glanced over at him.  “Zadkiel,” she said in her sweet, sad voice.  “Did the hunting party find the Nephilim?”

He shook his head, cradling the soul as he began to draw memories from it to create a Heaven.  “They haven’t arrived yet,” he said, closing his eyes and going into the mind space of the soul.  “They can meet us here, and help us work through the backlog.  Karael, I can take over.  You should get some rest.”

Karael shook his head.  “I don’t need-”

“You won’t be any use if you pass out.”  Zadkiel sifted through the soul’s memories, searching for a spark of happiness.  “Take an hour.  That’s a command.”

Karael hesitated, eyes narrowing, then slumped.  He was too weak to argue, though he didn’t leave the unloading zone.  Instead, he moved to a bench, laying down so he was facing the marble wall.  He was asleep in a moment. 

“He could heal if only we had time,” Eae murmured.  “The scars would be there, but he… I can’t do this, Zadkiel.  He is dying in front of me, and you drove Raphael out.  Raphael could have-”

“I had no choice,” Zadkiel murmured, frowning.  This soul had had a dark life.  There must be a spark of happiness somewhere to base its Heaven on?

“You did have a choice!”

“We don’t have time to argue,” Azrael said, picking up a soul himself.  “Karael is not the only one with horrible injuries.  He’s just the one strong enough to survive them longer than others.” 

“You too,” Eae said, turning sharply.  “You keep flying between Earth and Heaven, Azrael.  Your wings are in shreds.  You are using makeup to hide dark circles under _your vessel’s_ eyes- a human vessel, Azrael!  That should not reflect the state of your grace unless you’re severely weakened-”

“Shut up!”  Zadkiel cradled the soul, eyes wide, though suddenly he wasn’t seeing Heaven.  He’d found a happy memory, and within the memory was a name-

_“No, no, no, Sam,” the woman said, laughing.  She was deaf, but that seemed a minor detail between the two as she reached out to grab his hands.  “Relax.  You’re so tense your veins are popping.”_

_He pulled his hands back as though insulted, but he was grinning, shaking his arms out to relax the muscles.  “Okay- okay.  Let me try again-”_

_He made an awkward series of motions that seemed to translate to, “Hi, vampire kill me now,” and grinned hopefully._

_The woman burst into laughter.  “Good,” she signed back to him.  “The vampires will be so frightened of you.”_

_His nose wrinkled at the sign language, and he opened his mouth, trying to translate.  He finally gave up and shook his head.  “I got ‘good’ and ‘vampire,’ he said out loud.  “Repeat it slower?”_

_She laughed again, and raised her hands, signing slow and exaggerated as though speaking with a baby.  This time, she simply spelled everything out, letting him catch each letter.  He opened his mouth, lips forming the shapes of the words as she spelled them.  “You, Sam Winchester-” (and Winchester took a moment to spell out)- “will frighten every vampire.”_

_He snorted at the sarcasm in her expression.  “Okay, no, I’ve got this.  What did I do wrong?”_

_The woman, the soul, hesitated, and then reached out to take his hands, to help him form the silent threat that he had originally tried to sign.  She stepped closer, and he relaxed, letting her move his fingers, his own lips moving as he tried to match English words to American signs.  And at one point, their eyes met, and they both blushed and looked away-_

Zadkiel pulled out of the memory, not interested in two humans fumbling through their feelings.  What he was more interested in was the fact that this soul had known Sam Winchester, and Sam Winchester knew Jack Kelly.  It seemed almost fateful, just happening to stumble on this soul.

He’d been the one who’d had the prophetic dream (which was seeming less and less like drugs); now he was the one who would find the Nephilim. 

He stepped away from the other souls and Eae and Azrael, then set the soul down.  “Okay, okay, okay,” he murmured, readying himself for a bit of soul power that he had only read about-

But it was a strong soul, and it did not need Zadkiel’s help to take on the image of its life.  The glow increased and then vanished.  A woman stood where the soul had been, looking confused, her nose wrinkled as she turned a circle, trying to gauge where she was. 

“Be at peace,” Azrael said, when he’d realized what happened.  He shot Zadkiel a glare, and stepped forward.  “There were technical difficulties- you are in Heaven-”

Her eyes watched his lips, and her eyebrows creased.  “You’re… angels?  I’m dead.”

Zadkiel touched her shoulder, and she whipped around.  But he held up a hand in peace and switched into American Sign Language, the Gift of Tongues making any language as simple to him as Enochian or Latin.  “You’re in Heaven,” he signed.  “I woke you up before you made it to your personal Heaven so you could help us.”

Eae’s eyes narrowed as she watched, and Azrael moved closer, in case the soul became unstable.  But the woman didn’t look close to imploding.  She was strong in life, and so she was strong in death. 

“Help you?” The confused look didn’t leave her face as she signed back to him.  “Is Castiel here?” 

Zadkiel shook his head.  “No, but he is relevant…” His fingers trailed wordlessly in the air for a moment while he decided how to ask her without letting her think it was a threat.  “We are looking for the Winchesters,” he finally decided on.  “Not for fighting- they have something we need.  Someone.”

She blinked, glancing over at Eae and Azrael, before looking back to Zadkiel.  “I’m sorry,” she responded.  “I don’t know who any of you are.  I just died-”

Azrael interrupted.  “Not just.  It’s been a little bit now.  Sorry- we’re working on a backlog.  Do you want us to fix your ears?  Your soul mimicked your life-”

“My ears are fine,” She replied, motions sharp and slightly defensive.  But she let that go.  “How long has it been?”

Azrael winced at the question.  “I’d have to check the log-”

“Nevermind.  No.  I’m not helping you find the Winchesters.”  She crossed her arms, and then uncrossed them and added, “dicks with wings.”  Then she crossed them again, silent.

Eae’s eyes widened as she looked between the soul and Zadkiel.  “She knows where Jack is then,” she signed, swapping spoken language for signed as easily as changing a shirt.  “If we find Jack-”

“Why’s everyone being so quiet?”  Karael rolled over where he was napping, disturbed by the sudden lack of noise. 

“Sleep, Karael,” Eae called aloud.  A pained look crossed her face, and then she darted forward to the soul of Eileen Leahy.  “Please,” she signed.  “Tell us where they are.  They are our only hope.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof sorry this took so long, here ya go

_Asgard_

Svadilfari stood on the wall, arms crossed as he surveyed the fields outside of Asgard.  Snowflakes drifted on the air, this high up from the ground, though they melted as they drifted lower.  Winter was coming, that cold bite on the air, and it was fitting, Svadilfari decided, for it had been winter when he had met Loki, and now it would be winter when he would be reunited with his bride-to-be.

He wished, for a moment, that he had Heimdall’s ability to see everywhere and everything.  It would be so easy then, to search out his love, to find her and bring her home to him.  There would be none of this eternal cat and mouse game, none of this reaching out for just a taste of that grace-

Grace.  That was why Loki was so elusive, he now knew.  She was an archangel, the most powerful of Heaven’s warriors.  Though she had loved him and borne his son, she didn’t understand that Svadilfari was the husband she was meant to be with, because she didn’t know that he was worthy of her.  Once he proved that he was the strongest creature, that he was stronger than even she was, she would fall to her knees and weep for all the wasted time where they could have been together.  And Svadilfari would forgive her, would allow her to return to his side. 

And then, when he was the strongest being in the universe, he would rule with Loki the Trickster- nay- with Gabriel the Messenger- at his side.  And she would see his power, would love him all the more for it, and he would cherish her in turn, and she would warm his bed and bear his children for the rest of eternity.  He had started as little more than a Giant laborer’s servant, and now he could taste the pinnacle of existence. 

But he needed to find her again.  He’d found her earlier, when she’d sent out a tiny ping of power in a fight against a demon, but she’d panicked and broken the connection early.  Svadilfari understood- she sensed his power, probably knew that soon his power would surpass her own, and she needed to come to terms with it.  She would- he was sure of that.  But he needed to talk to her again, and without that ping of grace to follow, he was simply casting his senses into the ocean of the universe, hoping to come across the right fish. 

Loki was a slippery being.  She was good at running and hiding, though it was frustrating, because she didn’t need to hide from Svadilfari.  He loved her, after all, more than anybody else could ever love her, and she could be sure that anybody who had ever hurt her, who had ever scared her enough to make her hide, would die.  When she was with him, she would never need to hide again. 

He threw his senses out to the last place he had seen her, in a little town in Midgard.  He could sense the residue of her power, the remnants of grace fading away, but she herself was gone.  So he cast his mental net wider, searching in growing circles.  This was difficult work, and he could feel himself fatiguing quickly, trying to reach into an entirely different realm to find his love.  He needed more energy, and it would be several days before he could get it. 

Just as his connection to Midgard was fading, he caught something- and though it wasn’t Loki, it was still interesting.  It was a dead zone, a spot where there seemed to be nothing.  Was it a natural warping of magical fields?  Magnetic?  Or was there a ward blocking his vision?

He couldn’t explore it, whatever it was.  He didn’t have enough power, and his senses were snapped back to Asgard before he could further investigate.  It was probably nothing, that dead patch, but it was close enough to the place he had last sensed Loki that it was worth checking out. 

He turned sharply, striding away from the edge of the wall, to take a set of wooden stairs back down into the streets of Asgard.  It was dark at this time of night, though a few Aesir still wandered the streets, begging for change or new boots before the winter snows.  Svadilfari ignored them all, marching up to the main palace, letting himself in the front doors.  Two guards stood, but other than a brief nod they didn’t react to his entrance.

Sleipnir’s quarters were on one of the upper floors with the other war generals, a mark of his high status and Odin’s favoritism.  Svadilfari did not knock as he let himself in, walking through several rooms to shake his son awake where he slept under satin blankets. 

“What- Thor?  Oh, Father.”  Sleipnir sat up, rubbing his hands over his face.  “It’s the middle of the night.  You have no right to wake me-”

“I need you to check something for me, when you’re in Midgard tomorrow,” Svadilfari said.  “Open your mind to me so I can give you the location.”

“Write it down.”  Sleipnir fell back down and pulled the blankets up.  “And if I happen to pass by, maybe I can check.”

Svadilfari’s eyes narrowed as he watched his son roll over, dismissing him.  It had been like this for the past eight years- other than the cold use of the word ‘Father,’ Sleipnir did not acknowledge their relationship.  It was getting better though- Sleipnir wasn’t immediately insisting he leave the room.  “It is urgent,” he said.  “About your mother.”

Visible back muscles tensed, and Sleipnir sat up sharply, looking over at his father.  “My mother is dead.  She was killed-”

“She is alive.”  Svadilfari inclined his head.  “My son, you know I wouldn’t wake you if it weren’t important.  But I may have discovered her location.  When you reach Midgard tomorrow, leave Thor at the entrance to Helheim and check the location I’ve discovered.”

Sleipnir swung himself out of bed, standing.  “If my mother is alive,” he said slowly (though he didn’t sound at all surprised by the concept), “then Thor deserves to know.  The pair of them-”

Svadilfari had to take a deep breath to make the red fade from his vision.  “Thor and Odin hurt Loki more than anybody else.  They took her and twisted her from a glorious archangel into a pagan whore-”

“Please don’t call my mother a whore.”  Sleipnir ran a hand down his face.  “I hear it enough from everybody else.  And listen, Father, even if she is there, clearly, she- he isn’t into you anymore, or he’d go find you.  He’s probably staying with some mortal, if he _is_ alive.  He’ll show up sooner or later.  He always does.”

“My son, you know nothing about our relationship.”  Svadilfari rested a hand on Sleipnir’s shoulder, feeling the hard muscles of an archangel boy.  There was strength there, and he needed his son’s loyalty.  “Gabriel the Archangel is meant to be with me, and you will know two parents-”

Sleipnir pushed Svadilfari’s hand away.  “Father, how many times do we need to have this conversation?  Loki does what he wants, no matter what anybody else says.  Go find him and talk to him yourself, but I will not be a pawn in my mother’s relationships.  Now please, let me sleep.  I’m traveling in the morning.”

“Sleipnir-”

“ _Leave_.”

Svadilfari hesitated, but Sleipnir drew himself up, and the air itself seemed to spark as oxygen molecules split in a brief show of archangelic power.  For a moment, Svadilfari grit his teeth, feeling his fingers twist into a fist- wouldn’t it be nice to wipe that look of disloyalty straight from Sleipnir’s face?  But no- he needed the boy’s loyalty to get Loki back.  So he took a deep breath and inclined his head.  “I will leave the location on your bedside table.  Please, my son, check it in the morning.”

Sleipnir stood next to his bed, silent, waiting for Svadilfari to write the location down and leave.  Though it rankled to give in like that, Svadilfari allowed Sleipnir’s demands.  Soon enough, the boy’s loyalty would shift. 

Soon, everybody’s loyalty would shift. 

 

_The border of Svartalfheim and Helheim_

“I hate this job.”  Brok Brokson leaned against the cavern wall, eyes glinting in the gloom of the cave.  “This is just dirty.  There have got to be better ways to pay off gambling debts.”

“Shut up.”  Dag Colbyson pressed his ear against the stone, then tapped it once, twice, three times.  “This is the place.”

They were the dark elves, the dwarves, those who lived in the earth and crafted great treasures.  Or rather, some created great treasures.  Not all had access to a forge, or materials, or even a monthly rent check.  Brok was the tall one, at just a tad over four foot, while Dag was more average.  Brok’s beard was intricately braided and red as fire, though one would never know it in the dark, while Dag looked more like someone found off the streets, with dirt on his face and a hard anger in his eyes. 

“If I had known what this assignment was-” Brok began, but he was cut off.

“Stop whining.  This is the place- hand me the chisel.”

Brok closed his eyes, the twin lights vanishing from the dark for a moment, and then he reached down and rifled through the tool bag until he found it.  “Just… pirating souls?  Isn’t that, evil?  I don’t know, it seems messed up to me.”

“Then you know what?”  Dag turned sharply, snatching the chisel.  “Leave then!  I’ll take the money, and you’ll be killed.  You know that weird horse guy isn’t going to just let you walk away.  Maybe you’re just whining about paying debts, but I’ve got three kids who need to eat dinner tonight.  So I’m going to catch this soul, and I’m going to carry it up to creepy horse god, and I’m going to go home and not tell my husband where the money came from.  Hell, if you cop out on me, I’ll give him your soul to eat as a Thanksgiving bonus.”

Brok made a whining noise under his breath, but Dag’s stance made it clear that he was not bluffing.  “Fine.  I’ve got the net.”

“Good.”  Dag pressed the chisel into the wall and held out his hand.  Obediently, Brok handed him the hammer, and, quiet as possible, Dag chipped at the wall until he broke through, wincing at the sudden light, though in reality it was a very dim illumination.  “Okay.  Hand me the net.”

Once upon a time, Loki the Trickster had invented the first fishing net.  Since then, it had been refashioned in a thousand different ways.  This one, that Brok was currently untangling, was gossamer fine, woven of a spider’s web and a widow’s tears, and despite the delicacy of the ropes, it was strong as any metal.  It was strong enough to catch a soul. 

Now Dag threaded the net through the opening between the narrowest part of the wall between Helheim and Svartalfheim.  He would hold it there, let it dangle in the hall, until one of the meandering souls had the bad luck of running into it and becoming entangled.  Then he would reel the net in, and with it, the brightest light of a soul. 

“How long do we have to wait?”  Brok leaned back against the wall as Dag held the tail of the net. 

“It’s like fishing.  Shut up and think about your gambling problem.”  Dag slid down against the wall, still holding onto the corner of the net, and closed his eyes, waiting to feel a tug.  Brok continued to complain, but his voice dropped into a low mutter, so Dag tuned it out.  He was going to save the money from this soul, and the next, and the next, so his three sons would be able to go to school and make an easier living than he would.  It was going to work.  It had to work.

Someday, his sons would be the greatest smiths in Svartalfheim.  Dag knew this, deep in his heart.  They would forge beautiful cities and weapons so intricate that they could only be decoration and jewelry that would bring tears to people’s eyes.  All he needed was money to get them into one of the schools, or maybe even apprentice them to one of the better smiths-

There was a tug at the net.  Dag leapt to his feet, already slowly reeling it in.  The hole in the wall glowed bright as the soul struggled, so bright that it hurt his eyes, but that was okay, because once the soul was pulled from Helheim, it would be shoved into a sack and carried to the surface-

And then there was a shadow. 

This had never happened before.  Dag stared at the shadow in the little hole, frowning.  It looked almost like a hand… a bony, skeletal hand…

His heart dropped, and the wall blew open, flooding the cavern with brightness.  Dag was thrown backwards down the corridor, and he scrambled back, watching through wide eyes as Brok bounced off the wall and hit the floor. 

A shadowy figure stepped through the new doorway, looking down at Brok, and a woman’s voice spoke.  “You dare to threaten my souls?”

“No-no-no-” Brok scrambled back from where he landed, panicking.  “No, it was an accident, nothing’s happening-”

The shadow reached down, running a finger down Brok’s cheek.  From the further corridor, Dag saw the glint of bone. 

“You will not touch my souls, dwarf,” the shadow said, and its touch moved from Brok’s cheek to his neck.  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple casting a long shadow in the bright light of the captured soul.  “Instead, you will become them.”

It was the swiftest of motions, but the _crack_ echoed down the hall.  Brok slid to the floor, head limp at a wrong angle, and Dag pressed a hand to his mouth, stifling a gasp.

The shadow looked up sharply, and Dag saw the glow of a single golden eye, and he closed his own eyes, unable to look into that ancient iris.  “P-p-please-” was all he managed, hiding his face.

The shadow considered him.  The moment stretched into an eternity, and still Dag hid his eyes from the cruel specter.  And he knew now, that he was looking at Hela, daughter of Loki and Queen of the Underworld, and he knew that with the barest thought she could wipe him from existence. 

“Why do you hunt my souls?”  Her voice was cold and angry.  “Why do you disturb their final resting place?”

Dag’s mouth was dry.  There was no way he could speak, but that cold golden eye demanded an answer.  “A horse god,” he whispered.  “He pays- I need the money.  I need it- I have three kids- I’m sorry- I don’t know his name-”

Her eyes narrowed, and very slightly, her head tilted to the side.  He couldn’t see under that hood of shadows, couldn’t see anything but the glow of her eyes, and his body trembled.  She was going to kill him as dead as Brok.  He knew it.  This was it.  He had accomplished nothing except finding death at the hands of a death goddess.

And then she turned and stepped back through the broken wall, carrying the soul that still struggled and glowed in the net like a strange, deep water fish.  Behind her, the rocks rebuilt themselves, and Dag was alone in the dark with the corpse of Brok. 

He fell backwards, staring up at the stone of the ceiling, too numb to even feel the relief.  The strange horse god would need to find another way to get his souls, because there was no way that Dag would ever risk crossing Hela Lokidottir again.

 

_The Bunker_

Luke slept bonelessly, unless Gabriel tried to move.  In that case, the boy would unconsciously cling to him as tight as a limpet, and Gabriel wasn’t about to discourage that.  He wanted the boy to feel safe, and if the boy felt safe in his arms, then dammit, he would carry the kid around until Michael and Lucifer actually did manage to end the world.  Even if that meant that his arm was numb right now.  Which it was.  Very numb.  He couldn’t even move the cold fingertips. 

It didn’t matter.  Gabriel couldn’t sleep anyways.  Each time he closed his eyes, he saw them again, his boys, his babies.  Vali, friendly and eager for adventure, and Nari, thirsty for knowledge almost to a fault. Two boys who hadn’t lived past thirteen, who had been killed because-

No.  He couldn’t think of that, not with Luke here.  He would not lose it in front of the boy, even if that boy was sleeping now. 

That didn’t stop the lump in his throat, or his vision of the dark room blurring.  He tried to move his numb fingers again, just to distract himself, but there wasn’t even a tingle.  He needed to move, but if Luke was comfortable laying on his arm, then he could lay on Gabriel’s arm for the rest of eternity. 

Instead of laying in the borrowed bed and stewing in his own thoughts for another hour, he reached out, letting his grace drift through the tangle of wards and ancient magic collected in the bunker.  He definitely needed to figure out why and how he and Sam were connected, but that felt like a lot of work at the moment, and he wanted a distraction right now, not a mystery.

Sam was in another room in the bunker, the library, Gabriel quickly ascertained, and he was very much awake, reading.  Gabriel drifted closer, and the many levels of his mind made it easy to separate the sensation of lying in bed and also drifting bodiless in the library.  This was second nature.  Hell, if his grace weren’t so low, he could have created a doppelganger to complete the effect, but that felt like a lot of work. 

Sam was reading, despite the late hour.  Gabriel drifted closer, looking over his shoulder, and had he a body in this form, he would have smiled.  There were several books on the table- an anthology of Norse mythology, a Bible, and several Gnostic Gospels.  There was also a notebook, where Sam was scribbling notes and dates.  He seemed to be trying to create a timeline, but it would be impossible with the literature he was working with- a long history of oral storytelling and Gabriel’s innate ability to be in multiple places at once meant that that any surviving stories might be accurate in the gist but not the details. 

But it was still amusing, watching Sam try to connect the dots, and Gabriel remained, invisible and watching, for nearly twenty minutes as Sam quietly worked, occasionally muttering under his breath when he thought he had a break.  He was wearing only a short sleeved shirt, and Gabriel would not deny that most of his watching was centered on the hunter’s arms.  Such attractive arms, for such a studious man. 

It was only when he paused to yawn and reached for the now-cold coffee cup further on the table that Gabriel made himself known.  He drifted forward, invisible, wrapping his grace around Sam as though he were coming up behind him in body to hug him from behind.  _That anthology is wrong_ , he whispered in Sam’s ear.  _It’s basing everything on the writings of Snorri, and Snorri combined the Norse stuff with Christianity.  Makes for a good story, but you won’t get any fact out of it_.

Sam froze, eyes wide, fingers brushing the edge of the coffee cup.  Gabriel chuckled, brushing grace through Sam’s hair.  The strands lifted as though they were being kissed by a summer’s breeze.  _I’m bored, Sammy,_ Gabriel murmured in his ear.  _Entertain me_.

Sam turned sharply, his eyes flicking back and forth like he was looking for a physical presence.  “Where are you?”

 _Still in bed.  Came to see what you were doing.  Just spying on me, I see._ He paused a moment, trying to gauge Sam’s reaction, but the hunter didn’t look frightened or angry.  He just looked intrigued, his eyes flicking around as he looked for something to focus on.  _It’s too late for studying.  Go to bed._

Sam shook himself, and started to hastily gather the books.  “Yeah, er- sorry.  I wasn’t spying on you.  Just comparing… you show up everywhere.  Um… if you want me to stop-”

 _It’s flattering.  Do as you will._ Gabriel watched the lines of muscle in Sam’s arms, and something in his grace clenched, and he knew he was letting himself go too far with this.  But the alternative, of lying awake all night and thinking only of the boys-

 _Come to bed_ , he amended, and then he cursed himself.  This connection was a trap, no doubt, some dirty scheme by his father or the Norns, and he was playing right into it, but the thought of those arms around him-

Sam blinked, his eyes still flicking wildly around the room without someone to physically look at.  “What?  Gabe, I dunno-”

_No, yeah, yeah, you’re right.  I’m just overtired.  Um- yeah.  Cool._

And he snapped back to his body as quick as a rubber band, only now his cheeks were burning.  He freed his arm from under Luke, and that started to burn too as blood poured back into the chilly limb.  The boy, asleep, cocooned in grace, didn’t notice Gabriel’s heart pick up as he thought about the mistake he’d just made.  ‘Come to bed-’ What was he?  Some innocent maiden in a bad romance?  No, he was Loki, and-

And the door was pushed open slightly, the light falling in a triangle across the floor.  “Gabriel?”  Sam’s voice was the lowest whisper, as to not wake the boy.  “You okay?”

No, no, he was very not okay, but that wasn’t Sam’s problem.  “Yeah,” he replied.  “Told you.  Just tired.”

Sam’s presence still remained.  “Can’t sleep?”

“Clearly.”  Gabriel didn’t mean to put that much bite into the whisper, but he saw Sam’s shadow flinch.  He tried to summon the energy to feel guilty, but he didn’t think he could feel anything more. 

“It’s okay, you know.”  Sam’s voice was still soft.  “To be overwhelmed.  It’s a lot going on at once.  Even for an archangel.”

Gabriel opened his mouth to reply, but he didn’t trust his voice.  He didn’t want to hear this.  He just wanted… He didn’t really know what he wanted.  But he didn’t want words.

“How’s Luke?” Sam asked, when Gabriel didn’t immediately respond. 

This was simpler.  “Asleep,” Gabriel murmured, quietly brushing a few strands of hair from the boy’s face.  “I should find his mother at some point.  See what happened there…” He hoped it was kidnapping.  He hopped the boy hadn’t simply been abandoned.  But he had seen it enough, with demigods, that it wouldn’t surprise him. 

“You’ve got a lot on your plate right now,” Sam murmured from the doorway.  “If you need help-”

“Stop.”  Gabriel hated how his voice sounded.  “Just… stop talking, okay?  I don’t want to hear- it’s fine.  I’m fine.  Everything’s fine.”

“Of course, but-”

“Either come lay down or leave me alone,” Gabriel whispered, turning over so he could actually look at Sam, silhouetted against the dim light in the hall.  “Just stop.  Talking.  Stop.”

“But Luke’s with you-” Sam started, but he was interrupted.

“Do you think I’m that thirsty right now?”  Gabriel turned back over, an arm around the boy.  “Just go to bed, Sam.  Don’t worry about me.  It isn’t the first time I’ve had a lot going on at once.”

“No, no, I’m sorry.”  There was silence for a moment, and then soft footsteps on the floor.  “I know you can handle it, Gabe.  But you don’t need to handle it alone.”

“I told you to stop talking.” 

“Yeah.  Sorry.”

There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch to an awkwardly long time, and then Gabriel half turned again.  “Lay down, wouldja?  I’m cold.”

Sam hesitated, then gently lowered himself down, careful to leave a few inches of space so he wouldn’t be imposing.  Gabriel closed that space though, scooching so his back was pressed against Sam’s side, and Sam, blessed, muscular, perfect Sam, turned on his own side to sling an arm over Gabriel’s ribs.  He was taller than Gabriel, larger, and he was warm and Gabriel, still holding onto the boy, tried to press closer into the presence. 

 Sam, to his credit, didn’t try to speak again, and Gabriel was thankful for that.  He just closed his eyes and linked his fingers with Sam, and if he couldn’t fall asleep, at least he could relax somewhat with the weight of an arm grounding him, protecting him from an entire eternity’s length of memories.

 

_A very, very long time ago_

Loki drew his coat tighter around his body, though he was too distracted to feel the cold of the frost giant chambers. “I know I said we were ready, but now it’s happened, and I-”

“Have come running to me, yet again.”  Laufey, the frost giant queen, looked up from where she was hanging a kettle of water over a fire.  “Loki, you should be rejoicing.  You and the Aesir girl wanted children- now she’s giving you a child.  Why do you look like the wolves when we don’t let them chew on the corpses?  Sit down.  Nuh- no standing there forlornly.  Sit, Loki.”

When he still hovered in the doorway, her red eyes narrowed.  “I said sit, _Gabriel_.”

Loki blinked, shocked as though she had used his middle name, and sat obediently on the edge of one of the chairs. 

“Good.”  Laufey looked back to the kettle, making sure it was steady above the flickering flames, and then moved to sit across from him at the table.  “What’s worrying you?  That your newest spawn will be a spoiled Asgardian princeling?  That sounds like the best case scenario to me.”

Loki rubbed his hands down his face.  “I don’t know- yeah.  That does.  I know.  It’s gonna be a chubby little brat who always gets what it wants and all of Asgard will spoil it, but I don’t… feel… right.”

Laufey snorted, resting her hands on the table.  “I should think it would be Sigyn who should be having the feelings here.”

He shot a look at her.  “Sigyn’s fine.  Trust me, if she wasn’t she would say something.  She’s very vocal when something’s not right for her.  No, this…” He trailed off, then groaned, dropping his face to the table.  “I don’t feel right.  Something here feels off, and I can’t put my finger on it, and I don’t want to screw this up like with-” He froze, and looked towards the flickering tongues of flame in the fireplace.   

Laufey’s face softened.  “Loki, you didn’t screw up with Sleipnir.”

He flinched like he’d been slapped. 

Laufey stood.  Her body was tall, made of graceful, athletic lines under the sewn wolf-pelts she wore.  She was a warrior, but now her motions were gentler as she moved around the table to press a hand to Loki’s cheek.  “Listen to me, Loki.  Sleipnir is successful- he’s a young god, but he’s made a name for himself.  He’s strong, independent, and I’ve seen him fight battles that would make a Valkyrie quake in terror.  He would not be this way if it weren’t for your guidance.”

Loki’s gaze dropped to the ground.  “He hates me, Mother.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”  Laufey pulled him forward into a hug, so he was leaning his head against her, running her fingers through his hair.  He fell into it with ease of habit.  “He’s confused, and he’s surrounded by close-minded Aesir, but he doesn’t hate you.  He is as much part of you as you are part of him.”

Loki was silent, and Laufey closed her eyes for a moment.  If Loki wasn’t talking, that meant he was truly upset. 

Once, long ago, she’d found him, a broken star fallen from a cosmic battle.  He had been silent then, wounded, clinging to her when she showed him a modicum of kindness.  There had been not one word, no more than a small cry and silent tears when she’d set a broken wing.  He was powerful, a weapon, she’d thought, and she could use this small, silent cosmic creature to win her own battles. 

It had taken three days of warm meals and field dressing his wounds to gain his loyalty.  She knew the exact moment, because he’d started chattering to her, in her own language though there was no way he could have learned it so quickly.  He’d marveled at the snow, pointed at the stars and named his brothers and father, asked a thousand and one questions about Jotunheim, introduced himself as Gabriel, Messenger of God.

And though he had come and gone after returning to his family, it was easy to ascertain his moods as he got older and more jaded.  When he was happy, he chattered, friendly to a fault, talking his way out of fights like he didn’t realize he had the power to win them.  When he was angry, or when his cosmic brothers were fighting, his talking would become more shallow, almost manic sometimes, and if he went silent, he was scared. 

And it was incredible to Laufey that a creature such as this could even know the feeling of fear.  But even more incredible than that was that it was not to his apparently omnipotent father or cosmically powerful brothers that he would flee when he was scared, but to her.  He chose Laufey, a savage frost giant who had killed more than she could count, who had trained her sons to be as fierce as she was, who fought with the reigning king of Jotunheim, Utgard-Loki, on a basis so regular that-

Well, she fought the frost giant king so much that, when pressed for a name for the golden creature who had started following her around, she claimed him to be her son, whom she called Loki.

Farbauti, her husband, was not exactly pleased with that, but Laufey and Farbauti rarely saw eye to eye on anything.

And now, once again, Loki had run to her in his moment of fear, and Laufey held him.  Now, he didn’t glow with power as he once had- time away from his brothers had weakened him somewhat, and he had near permanently tamped down his own grace signal.  But here, holding him, she could feel a thrum deep within the borrowed human vessel, a vein of that other-worldly power that she’d originally fallen for. 

Maybe she hadn’t given birth to him, but the creature she now held in her arms was more her son than the two frost giant warriors she had carried, and he was in pain. 

“I know it hurts, Loki.”  She used her foot to pull a chair closer and sit down so they were on the same level.  “But you know that children pull away from their parents.  Your eldest is queen of the underworld now-”

“I’d rather she was still with me,” He muttered into Laufey’s shoulder, though she knew how infinitely proud of the girl he was. 

She sighed, moving one hand in slow circles around his back.  “Children leave, Loki. They grow up and they find their own way.  And Sleipnir needs to find his own way too.  Let him go, and he’ll return when he’s ready.  And in the meantime, you have a new baby to spoil.”

 “I don’t want-” he started, and then silenced immediately, eyes going wide.

“A different baby?  You’re not replacing him, and he’s a smart god- he knows that.”

Loki pulled back a bit, taking a slow breath.  “He hates me- Sleip does.  He’s disgusted by me-”

“Tell him the truth.”  Laufey drew herself up as well, looking down at the false-god she had helped to raise.  “He has very little information and many rumors to draw from.  Tell him what you truly are.  Tell him why he could never see his father.”

Loki blinked, like that hadn’t occurred to him, then shook his head.   “I can’t.  It’s too… too dangerous.”

“Because of your father.”

He nodded, looking away, and then he groaned through his fingers.  “I just have this feeling that something’s wrong.  Or was wrong.  Or will be wrong.  And I can’t pinpoint it, and I’m afraid, or was afraid…”

“You’ve been trying to read the future.”  Laufey’s eyes narrowed.

Loki jumped and glared at her.  “No.”

“You’re a cosmic being with a gift for languages- if you can’t choose a verb tense, that means that you’ve been playing with time again.”

“I have to see-!”

“No!”  Laufey stood sharply, sweeping a hand wide.  “No, Loki, you do not.  Only the Norns know fate, and you know that there are thousands of possibilities.  You explained this to me yourself- you might visit one future, only for it never to happen.  The universe is fluid, and you are working yourself into hysterics over nothing.”

He blinked when she raised her voice, those bright gold eyes surprised, and Laufey moved to go check the water over the fire.  “Sigyn is a midwife by trade, is she not?”

She could see Loki nod in the warped metallic reflection of the kettle.  She turned, and smiled reassuringly.  “Then she knows what she is supposed to be feeling right now.  If there was anything wrong with her pregnancy, then she would know.  And if there are any conflicts in the future, you will face those like you’ve faced all the ones before.”

He swallowed and nodded.  Laufey pulled two mugs from the mantle and took the water off to fill them.  She drank her own tea as dark and bitter as she could make it, but she added milk and honey to Loki’s. 

She pressed one warm mug into his hands.  “Drink.  And if you’re still worried, my army is attacking Utgard at dawn.  They always fight more fiercely when you fight alongside them, and it would be a good distraction.”

“Somehow, I doubt my pregnant, peace loving wife wants me battling it out with the frost giants.”  He looked up at her over the tea, gold eyes grateful. 

“Pity.”  Laufey sat down again and smiled over her own tea.  “I have a feeling we’re going to win tomorrow.  Utgard-Loki is weak, and the news that you’re expecting another child bolstered my people.  The streets will run red, and Utgard-Loki will die in the name of our unborn warrior.”

“Blood sacrifices before its even born?”  Loki’s fingers loosened on the mug, some of the tension leaving his muscles.  “This brat’ll be too spoiled for me to handle.”

“Isn’t that Grandma’s job?”  Laufey sipped her tea.  “A far cry from baking cookies and knitting in my rocking chair, but I  _am_  trying.  Now before you go running back to bother Sigyn, tell me about the giants you and Thor killed last week.  Did I know them?”

He shook his head, and set off on an exaggerated tale of a scouting mission gone wrong. 

Loki had never talked about his former brothers in Heaven like this, with sweeping hand gestures and laughter at their own exploits.  He was doing alright here on Earth, Laufey decided.  Between herself and Thor and now Sigyn, Loki would be fine, and this new baby would be nothing more than another fat, spoiled princeling who would have everything his little heart desired. 

And if any angel came down and tried to change that, then Laufey would destroy it without ever letting him know.  Loki’s happiness was more important than Gabriel’s responsibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah idk if the part with Laufey is really necessary plotwise, but she's in my head and I wanted to write her and that's what you get for reading in progress fic haha. And yeah, this took ages cause it's been a wild few weeks. Spent the week before graduation mostly partying to celebrate graduation, then graduated and it rained the entire ceremony and I was so cold I was literally shaking so I left after they called my name to go inside, then on vacay to the ocean with friends to celebrate, then found out ON THE FREAKING ATLANTIC BEACH that I didn't get the loans I thought I was gonna get for grad school, nearly started crying on the beach in public so that was embarrassing and I really hope my friends didnt notice because you know, plan A is writing a novel but I'm trash so that's not happening anytime soon, and plan B was this two year grad program and if I couldn't afford that thennnnnn... so yeah anyways I save money like a white republican man so guess who's paying grad school tuition mostly out of pocket ayooooo this girl but it's 100% job placement and I'm gonna have a 9-5 stable steady medical job where I'll have the salary to pay back all my loans cause oh fucking balls loans are scary, why didn't anyone fucking tell me this four years ago, except you gotta get an education to get a job that you can live off of and basically america is boning us on the education system and nobody knows how to stop it and anyways last week I wrote most of this chapter but I was also cashiering hardcore and all the old men customers keep making nasty comments about their wives to me and men are all two-faced bastards so I'm going to have two cats and be single forever. 
> 
> The end, I hope you enjoyed my monologue 
> 
> Also im seeing imagine dragons tomorrow and idk what to wear who's got good fashion sense for me?


	5. Chapter 5

_In a luxurious cabin in the middle of the woods_

Michael was screaming.  He was wailing in the corner like something had attacked him, and the noise, true-voice grating together with human suffering, was setting Raphael’s teeth on edge.  She pressed her forehead against the cool of the glass sliding doors (how peaceful the lake outside looked…) and wished that he would stop. 

The cat had bolted at the noise, and every bird outside and even several deer had sprang away, running as though Michael’s wail signaled an oncoming predator.  The only predator, though, was in his own head, and Raphael didn’t know how to make it go away.  She’d tried crooning gently to him, tried reaching out, tried turning off all the lights, tried turning all the lights on…

When she’d tried cocooning him in her own grace it had been the nail in the coffin.  He’d thrown her across the room and shoved himself into the corner, shaking and screaming at the imaginary monsters that the Cage had tattooed onto his memory.  Her own head was pounding now, and she wondered how his voice wasn’t raw, and all her methods of calming frantic fledglings had failed. 

She needed a new method. 

But she couldn’t think under the onslaught of grace-voice, and it was with a deepening shame that she slipped out the sliding doors onto the back deck.  As soon as she closed the glass, the screaming was muffled.  She hesitated, then walked past the expensive deck furniture to the edge, looking down the stairs that meandered back and forth across the steep hill and ended with a little dock on the lake.  Bright red and orange foliage reflected the backdrop of a cloudless sky.

She glanced back towards the house, but she just needed a moment of silence, and then she would return to her older brother. 

The boards creaked under her bare feet.  She’d abandoned the formal pencil skirt and suit jacket- nobody was out here to see it, and it seemed pointless to keep cleaning it when she had no need of formality.  She had found women’s clothes in the house- perhaps the wife of the man who had originally built the place, or maybe one of Gabriel’s various lovers- and had grace-tailored a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of dark jeans to fit her. 

About halfway down the hill, she heard a meow above her, and glanced up to find the cat sitting on the hill, watching her.  The cat blinked slowly, and Raphael reached out to touch the small being’s head.  “You were probably used to having the land to yourself,” she murmured.

The cat batted her forehead against Raphael’s hand, and then began to trot down the hill alongside her, keeping to her heel as a well-trained dog would.  Raphael stepped daintily, and her lips tensed in what was bordering on a smile when she realized that the cat was following.  “Or maybe you’re a friendly little beast.”

The cat refused to step onto the dock, however, looking between Raphael and the water with a betrayed expression as Raphael stepped off onto the lower part of the deck.  A few more expensive chairs overlooked the water.  A shed, built precariously into the side of the hill, held fishing gear and a few old blow-up floaties with mold growing on the damp rubber.  There were cleats on the side of the dock to tie off a boat, and Raphael absently wondered if the boat had floated away, or if it was sitting abandoned in some garage.

The only thing that marked the dock as different from any other rich mortal’s dock was one of the posts.  A pair of lovers had clumsily carved their names within a messy heart- the letters were all straight lines, like the carver had been surprised by the hardness of the wood and had to struggle to carve without using magic. 

Magic would have been an easy possibility, because the names within the heart were Loki and Kali. 

Raphael ran her fingers over the name _Loki_ , closing her eyes.  She could feel his fingerprint, though it was long faded.  The place had probably been modernized then, if it was that old, perhaps by the Wolf, perhaps by another god. 

Her fingers stopped before they came to Kali’s name.  She had no interest in the Destroyer, though it was no surprise that Gabriel had chosen her as a lover.  He was the archangel of justice; she was a destroyer of evil.  It would have been poetic, if Kali and Gabriel were nothing more than personifications of human ideals. 

 _Personifications of human ideals._   Raphael slid down to sit, dangling her toes in the water.  The hem of her pants became damp, but she ignored it. 

What if that was all they were?

She dropped her head to her hands, trying to ignore the distant call of Michael’s true voice. 

It could be possible, couldn’t it?  Human belief was strong- it could easily will creatures into existence, and plenty of people believed in the archangels.  If humans created their own beliefs, then it made sense that they would create cohesive memories, and then the pagan claim that _they_ were on earth first would make sense. 

It would also explain why nobody had seen God in the past several ages, if humans were their own god. 

Michael’s voice cut out for a moment, and then it was back, weaker this time.  He was tiring himself out, finally. 

Little ripples from her toes lapped against the posts holding up the dock.  The water wasn’t deep here- she could sense the bottom, where little slimy creatures dug about in the muck- but she couldn’t physically see how far down it went, past the deep green algae.  How easy it would be, to simply slip under, to return to the peace and silence she had left behind-

“What the hell is he doing?”

Raphael jumped, pulling her feet back up from the water as she half turned to look at Fenrir, eyes wide like she’d been caught- doing what, she didn’t know, but definitely something wrong.  “What is who doing?”

“Your brother.”  Fenrir looked over at the carving, rolling his eyes, then took a seat in one of the chairs, neatly placing one leg over the other.  He smelled like a forest, like foliage and blood and humid sunlight.  “Or my uncle, but I doubt I have the authority to call him that when I’ve never met the guy.  Or at least, a sane version of him.”

Raphael was still sitting on the ground- she jumped up suddenly so that she wasn’t looking up at the wolf god.  “Your father and Kali?” she asked, ignoring the comments about Michael and bluntly changing the subject.

Fenrir’s eyes flicked to the carving, only to roll again.  He leaned back in the chair, making himself at home.  “Yeah, _that_ was a _thing_ \- I swear, they got off on that trickster spiel he has going on.  Gross.  Her husband was _pissed_.”  He chuckled, and switched which leg was crossed.  “Hope you didn’t have any delusions about baby bro being a saint on Earth- guy scared _me_ sometimes.  Gets really into that Hammurabi eye-for-an-eye stuff.”

“Considering that he helped write those laws, it does not surprise me.”  Raphael looked away from Fenrir, back over the water.  She considered sending him away again, but his presence was cutting through the drone of Michael’s voice in her head that continued to echo even after the source had exhausted himself.  “But that would have been long before your time.”

Gabriel had been in love, back when the eye-for-an-eye stuff had been written.  Raphael still remembered the golden eyed archangel fawning over a Hebrew priestess.  It had been a youthful affair, all innocent declarations and sloppy kisses, and Raphael had laughed at him, had mentioned it to Michael as a joke, mocking her brother. 

And not only had the girl been slaughtered, but the entire city of Babel had been razed, the languages scattered in a mockery of Gabriel’s treasured Gift of Tongues.  

Michael had said it was a command from their father because the city was trying to build a tower as tall as Heaven, and that it had to be done by Gabriel, because Gabriel was the Messenger and this was a message to the humans.  Except, now, a common office building was taller than Babel’s tower could have ever hoped to be, and nobody razed New York. 

What if it had been the Destroyer, back then, instead of a human girl?  Would they have had a war on their hands, or would Gabriel have slipped away from Heaven that much sooner?

Did the Destroyer even exist back then?

“I said, you look completely gone.  Thinking about how to best give me a lobotomy?  Because I hear the classic ice pick through the eye socket is all you really need.”  Fenrir’s voice broke through her memory.  “The fun part about me is that I’ll be a vegetable for about five minutes, and then you can try it again when I heal myself!”

“Stop.”  Raphael turned from the lake to glare at him, though her heart wasn’t in it.  “That is not how that method of healing worked- perhaps it could be taken that way by an uncivilized wild animal, but-”

Fenrir held up his hands innocently, a slight smirk on his face.  “Calm down, Ninja Turtle, I’m sure you had a good reason for shoving ice picks into angel skulls.”

“An abuse of a healing method does not mean the method is unsound.”  Raphael ran a hand down her face.  “Yes, it has been misused.  Initially, it was for calming emotions and allowing angels to be better soldiers.  And yes, it has been modified since then, but all for the good of Heaven.  You have no idea how my army works-”

“Your army?”

“Heaven’s army.”

Fenrir shook his head.  “Maybe it’s because I grew up in Jotunheim and Asgard, but how the hell do you guys manage in Heaven without imploding?  No food, no games, no-”

“We had games.”  Raphael wished she had actually put herself together before walking down to the dock.  Her hair was curled, her feet were bare- she was undisciplined, trying to explain to a chaotic nature god how discipline worked, trying to defend her people.  “We had war games for the fledglings.  Capture the flag-”

“Games that had nothing to do with training for war.”

“What are your games then?” Raphael snapped, turning suddenly towards him.  “What do you heathens do that has nothing to do with war?”

“Lots of things.”  Fenrir waved a dismissive hand.  “Dancing, music, lots of feasts and drinking, parties… Hell, even Laufey would-”

“Laufey?”

He smiled fondly, the first genuine emotion that Raphael had seen out of him.  “Grandmother.  Frost giant.  Dad’s mom.  Well… adopted mother, I guess.  Not really sure how that happened, honestly, but I’m pretty sure she’s older than you guys.”

“Of course…”  All four archangels had known that there were _things_ in the Darkness.  Creatures had sprang up with no need of light, beasts of pitch black skies and endless seas and snows.  Sea monsters, snow monsters, horrible, mutilated things, white and eyeless and disgusting to look at.  The frost giants were an exception to the ugliness, tall, warlike creatures who fought anything that moved and saw with heat vision, who tattooed themselves with ink that absorbed or repelled heat to make themselves beautiful for the special occasion of murder. 

And Gabriel had fallen under one’s sway. 

Raphael ran a hand down her face as the entirety of history clicked into place.  The personality quirks, the way Gabriel would vanish for weeks at a time, the anger that flickered behind his golden eyes, the obsession with mortal creatures and gods… hell, even the times where he would return to Heaven red-nosed and still dressed in winter furs when he should have been advising Abraham’s people in the heat of the desert. 

He had been Loki long before he had left, and Raphael had missed it.  They had all missed it. 

She slid back down to sit on the edge of the dock, crossing her legs, heedless of the water on the ankles of her pants now soaking two spots into the fabric of her thighs.  “It took us nearly a year to realize he wasn’t coming back,” she murmured.  “We thought he was dead.”

She heard a noise, the creaking of a chair, and then the Wolf was sitting next to her, barefoot as well, dangling his feet into the water.  He’d rolled up his pant legs though, so they wouldn’t get wet. 

“Do you know what happens when a military general is missing in action?”  She didn’t look up.  “We didn’t even have time to mourn.  We needed someone to take his place.  He was our politician.  He ran all the external affairs.  He signed treaties and advised the humans and stopped wars before they started with his peace negotiations.  He had trained a few fledglings, but none of them had his gifts, and suddenly treaties we didn’t even know had been signed were being broken.  War was… it was an afterthought, originally.  When Gabriel vanished, it became our purpose.” 

This time, there wasn’t a quip.  Fenrir watched her, head tilted.  “Losing a sibling is a brutal kind of grief,” he finally said.

“I wondered where he was,” Raphael said, looking down at the water.  A school of minnows had ventured near, their little bodies flashing silver in the sunlight.  “Where his body was.  He was the first angel… to die.  Or we thought.  After that, angels were killed on a near daily basis, but Gabriel… we didn’t even have a body to bury.”  She bit her lip, looking upwards.  “How could we have said goodbye without a funeral?”

She felt a hand on her knee, but she didn’t look down.  The hand was solid as the earth itself, and Raphael hated herself for not pushing it away. 

“And then I find him, later, in Asgard of all places.”  She looked away, teeth grit against the memory.  “Pregnant with your brother and begging me not to reveal his position- and I was angry, Fenrir, I was so angry.”  She closed her eyes and took a breath.  “He _abandoned_ us, let us believe him dead, let Lucifer and Michael tear each other apart so he could _fuck the mortals_ -”

And it occurred to her that maybe she shouldn’t talk this way to Fenrir about his parent, but he was only nodding, eyebrows drawn up sympathetically, and she had never spoken any of this to anyone.  And his hand was still on her knee, permission to continue, and Michael was falling apart fifty feet away, in the living room of Gabriel’s vacation home.  An entire house for a vacation, and Raphael’s first day off work was when she was killed by Castiel and the leviathans. 

“Michael and Lucifer were at war, and I couldn’t- I sided with Michael.  I had to.  Gabriel would have sided with Lucifer, should have sided with Lucifer, and it would have been an even match, but he was gone, and I- I couldn’t heal Lucifer’s soldiers.  I spent every waking hour tending to Michael’s soldiers on the battlefield, but I had to let Lucifer’s people die.  They choked on their own broken grace in front of me, fledglings that I’d known since creation, and-

An arm moved around her shoulder, and she stiffened.  But Fenrir wasn’t mocking her or flirting with her- it was only contact between two friends.  He had no words to comfort her, but his grace was there, the echo of a wing that had never materialized. 

“And after that I had to figure out your _lobotomies_ ,” she hissed.  “Because all the angels were having flashbacks of trauma and you can’t just _fix_ that.  So you just manipulate their grace into something more disciplined, but slowly it undoes itself, and then you have to do it again- and some angels took it further.  They would just erase the memories completely so they wouldn’t have to remember killing nest-mates.  And Michael- you think this is _crazy_?  This is calm compared to his rages.  At least now he doesn’t realize he’s throwing people against the wall.  But he would-”

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.  Fenrir’s body was a solid warmth beside her.  The lake was peaceful, stretching out in front of them, reflecting the fall foliage like a rippled mirror. 

“He would what, Raphael?”

She shook her head.  “He was good,” she said softly.  “He would protect us.  Sometimes he had to protect us from ourselves, our own thoughts, but he would protect us to the bitter end-”

Fenrir moved his hand so he was playing with one of her curls, tugging it straight and letting it bounce.  She wondered if he even realized that he was doing it, but the repetitive motion did something to calm her, to reduce the boiling anger in her own grace.  “I wish I could give you some speech to make you feel better,” he said after a moment.  “But that… that just really sucks.”

Somehow, that felt better than any speech he could have made about how it wasn’t her fault or how circumstances had forced her hand- because truly, she had never been forced.  She had made decisions that seemed right for Heaven.  She had held the army together even through Michael’s rages and sulks, and now she was stuck on Earth, rejected by her people. 

Except right now, the warmth of a heathen felt better than the cool emptiness of what lay beyond the veil, and Raphael leaned her head against Fenrir’s shoulder, silent for what could have been a few minutes or a few hours.  Out in the wilderness, on the edge of a lonely lake, time was merely an illusion. 

Finally, she shook herself, standing.  “I must tend to my brother,” she said, stepping away from the edge of the dock. She hesitated, looking down at him.

He chuckled, standing as well.  “Trust me, I’m not going to go spilling your secrets to the world.  Or to your brothers.  I should be heading out too- I need to intersect Thor on his way to the underworld.  My sister keeps forgetting to charge her cell phone and I can’t get ahold of her.  So snail mail it is.”  He pulled a crinkled letter from his back pocket, waving it like he was admitting some large inconvenience.

She nodded sharply, and could sense him gathering his grace, tensing to flit off into the ether of the universe.  But he paused.  “Hey, I know it won’t help, but Lo- Gabriel really did miss you guys.  If it weren’t for us… he was too young to have kids… he mighta come back if we weren’t there.  I dunno how you guys age up there, but sometimes I wonder if Dad and I weren’t growing up side by side.”  He paused again, looking away.  “Just don’t be too mad at him, okay?  Sure, be a little mad, but he’s had it rough too.”

“Your loyalty is admirable,” Raphael said, crossing her arms.  “Now go, send your letter to your sister.” 

But this time, it wasn’t a command to leave.  It had been reduced to shooing him away, and he was smiling when he left. 

And she certainly didn’t feel at peace, but when she looked up at the house, she thought that maybe it wasn’t completely hopeless.  Overhead, a few clouds drifted across the sun.  A drop of rain fell. 

 

_Heaven_

“I don’t know where Sam Winchester is.”  Eileen sat on an intricately carved bench down the hall, body half turned away from the angels.  “And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.  Leave me alone.”  She crossed her arms stubbornly, refusing to sign anything more.

“We need him!”  The small fluffy one was practically shaking, radiating angry grace, and that frightened Eileen but she kept her arms crossed.  She was already dead.  What could they do besides torture her?  Sam had survived a thousand tortures- Eileen could too.

“Eae, be calm.”  Zadkiel, the nervous one, stepped forward.  Eileen refused to look at him.  He was the angel of mercy, according to the lore, but he didn’t look like someone who would fly over the battlefield granting mercy to the wounded.  He looked like a harried office worker.  “Listen- I mean, see- we don’t want to hurt him.  I know in the past, we’ve had… disagreements…” He wished he knew the details so he could smooth them over.  His fingers were trailing between the words as he decided what to say.  “But I am in charge now, and I have no argument.  I merely want to find Lucifer’s heir so we can train him.  Nobody will be hurt.”

Eileen remained silent, head tilted only enough so she could see the shapes of his hands, though she refused to make eye contact.  He waited a minute, and then pulled back to discuss with his colleagues. 

The emo teenager was talking quickly.  He wanted to just put Eileen back into her memories, keep her calm and happy.  The other two had their backs to her, so she couldn’t read their lips, but the idea of being thrown back into her memories was-

No.  She would not relive all those deaths over and over.  She would not take that torture, and if they wanted to subject her to it, they would have to force her down. 

So she ran. 

Eileen didn’t hear the shouts behind her, though she knew that they must have been echoing down the hall when they saw her bolt.  These halls were long and brightly lit, though every few moments the lights would flicker, and there were doors on either side- her feet pounded against the floor; her heart beat in her chest, though she did not tire.

She was dead, and could run for miles. 

Eileen risked a look behind her- Zadkiel was running, already panting, not used to physical activity.  Eileen grinned and turned a sharp corner, then picked a door at random and threw herself through-

-and she hit a grassy hill, tripped, and fell, body flying down a steep slope until she managed to catch herself.  Her fists dug into the grass, dirt clumping under her fingernails, and she skidded to the stop on the side of a hill. 

It was a beautiful place, a grassy meadow stretching out under blue skies.  A breeze ruffled through Eileen’s hair.  At the bottom of the hill, two people were picnicking.  They spoke sweet nothings to each other, and didn’t even look up as Eileen picked herself up and looked back where she’d come. 

The door was gone. 

She frowned, then stepped gingerly down the hill, towards the two people.  They were dressed in older clothes- the girl wore a white dress with a wide skirt, and the man had on an old fashioned suit.  They were feeding each other strawberries, giggling, repeating little promises about being together forever. 

Except- the promises were looping.  The number of strawberries on the plate remained the same.  Eileen’s eyebrows creased as she circled them, watching as they repeated the same three phrases to each other.  Were they real?  Or-

“Hey,” she called out loud, stepping closer to wave a hand in front of the girl’s face.  “Do you see me?”

When the hand passed in front of her face, she frowned, blinking, and slowly looked up at Eileen.  “What?”  Her eyes were slightly unfocused.  “Who are you?”

The man stopped talking, but the loving smile remained frozen on his face in a way that made Eileen’s skin crawl. 

“I’m a hunter,” Eileen said.

“You have a strange accent-”

Eileen rolled her eyes.  “I’m deaf,” she said.  “Do you know-?”

“That’s awful!”  The girl pressed a hand to her chest.  “I’m so sorry-”

“What?  It’s not a problem.  Where are we?”  Eileen waved a hand.  “What is this place?”

“Oh.”  The girl looked around.  “It’s… it’s our first date…” She turned to look at the man, and a smile spread across her face.  “It’s my happiest memory… I… I’m dead…”  She sighed.  “Cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” Eileen said, moving slightly so she could see the girl’s lips.  (Sam always made sure to face her when he was talking- No.  She would not think about Sam right now.  She had bigger worries than some boy.) 

“But at least we’re together.” The girl smiled, reaching out to grab the boy’s hand.  “Isn’t that right?”

“I’ll love you forever,” he repeated blankly. 

The girl frowned.  “You already said that.”

“I’ll provide for all our children.”

“We never had children- you went off to fight and you got sick in the trenches and couldn’t-”

“I’ll love you forever.”

The girl’s breath hitched.  “It’s not you,” she whispered, shaking her head. “It’s just…”

“A memory,” Eileen filled in, squeezing the girl’s shoulder.  “He isn’t real.”

The girl stared at the memory of her dead husband for several minutes.  Her eyes were shining, and then she stood, hitching up her skirts.  “Well?  Are you dead too?”

Eileen nodded.  “I’m running from the angels- they’re going to torture me for information about…” She paused, not wanting to say anything out loud in case somehow an angel could hear. 

The girl’s eyes went wide.  “From _angels_?  Aren’t they supposed to be perfect?”

Eileen shook her head.  “Long story short, they’re dicks.”

The girl’s mouth fell open as she processed that information (or possibly just had her Victorian values shocked by the usage of a phallic insult- was it even an insult then, if Richard was a common name?  Eileen wasn’t sure, but the connotation was clear enough). 

“Don’t worry,” she said.  “I’m going to fix this.”

The words just spilled from her mouth.  She didn’t know how she was going to fix it.  She didn’t even know that it needed to be fixed until the tears had filled this girl’s eyes.  “I just need to figure out how.”

The girl rubbed at her eyes.  “I don’t know how to get out of here…”

But Eileen looked around critically.  She had heard about Sam and Dean’s time in Heaven- not the details themselves, but some of the random parts, during random conversations.  She’d been too scared of bringing up bad memories to ask for more information.  “I need you to tell me if anything looks out of place.”

The girl nodded, rubbing her eyes again, and turned in a slow circle.  Finally, she pointed at a hunting lodge further down the hill.  “That belongs to my father,” she said.  “But it shouldn’t be here- it should be miles and miles away.”

Eileen nodded and steeled herself.  “Stay here,” she said, and started marching down the grassy hill towards the lodge, praying that she wouldn’t find angels behind the door.  “I’m going to fix this.  I’m a hunter.”

Before the girl could call to her again, she’d arrived at the doorway.  She took a deep breath, and pushed it open.

She hadn’t realized that she’d closed her eyes until she realized her only sense was the cool metal of the doorknob and the smell of stale beer.  When she opened her eyes, she was looking into an empty bar.  A blonde girl was wiping down the same spot on the counter over and over, but she frowned and dropped the rag when she realized someone had walked in. 

“Holy crap,” she said, eyes going wide.  “Mom!  We have a customer?”

“There are no customers up here.”  An older blonde woman poked her head out of the back, frowning when she made eye contact with Eileen.  “Wow.  A customer.”

Eileen blinked, looking between them, and then around at the bar.  “Are there any angels here?” she asked. 

The two women, mother and daughter, glanced at each other.  “No,” the older one said.  “Come sit.  You look exhausted.”

 

_The Finger Lakes region, Upstate New York_

To be fair, Sigyn had known that she was getting into something big when Loki had started courting her. 

She was a midwife both in Asgard and Midgard, when she was prayed to, and it didn’t take people long to realize that she had a perfect record; she had never once lost a baby or mother.  Though she had no children of her own, she quickly became known as a goddess of mothers and children, and she took great pride in that. 

It wasn’t all godly magic, of course- though she’d started her life as one of Sif’s serving girls, she had studied under the god-doctors Asclepius and Imhotep (Sif had been amused by Sigyn’s desire to learn medicine, but had indulged it- the worst that would happen would be that the sexism rampant in Greece would turn Sigyn off the studies).  She’d learned to boil the rags before using them as bandages, how alcohol somehow prevented the diseases, how washing one’s hands could be the difference between a healthy child or a burning fever. 

And then, while studying in Greece, she had met the goddess Artemis-

Sigyn hadn’t known that being a midwife was her passion- hell, she hadn’t even known she was into both guys and girls before she met the goddess of the moon.  But Artemis, that fierce huntress with silver eyes and a protective streak that made evil men tremble with fear, was the perfect being.  She fought against the Greek society that believed only men could be great; she protected the women and children who could not protect themselves; she hunted the most dangerous of beasts with a ferocity that rivaled Thor himself. 

(Ironically, at this same time, Loki had several flings with Apollo, to the point where it would have been called a relationship if the two gods didn’t keep insisting that it was just several one night stands in a row.  One night, they had passed each other in the halls of Olympus- Loki’s eyes had trailed over her body and then he’d invited her to whatever party he was going to.  Sigyn had scoffed in his face and kept moving, forgetting the encounter by morning.)

Artemis had been more than happy to show the little Asgardian serving girl the basics of midwifery, and Sigyn had quickly made the connections between medicine and childbirth (these weren’t new connections in Greece; witches at the time had already figured out that the magic of not getting sick usually lay in hot water, but for an Asgardian, it was a whole new world). 

The apprenticeship had ended when Sigyn confessed her feelings.  Artemis’s vendetta against relationships apparently applied to both men and women (though she didn’t try to kill Sigyn for her audacity, so maybe she was a bit more open towards women than men?) and that was that.

Sigyn returned to Asgard stinging from rejection, but also with several textbooks worth of knowledge, and she set that to use, moving from position of serving girl to midwife of Asgard.  Her girlhood crush faded behind her excitement in finding her purpose, and she quickly rose through the ranks to stand behind the most powerful of the gods. 

She was courted by one of Thor’s warriors, Theoric.  He was a young, brash soldier, but his heart was in the right place, and he brought Sigyn little presents from all his missions.  She might have married him, if she hadn’t met Loki for the second time. 

This time, it wasn’t a passing interaction in the halls of Asgard.  This time, she was fetched by Thor himself, silently in the night, and she followed him to his personal chambers, where Loki was curled on the bed, face shoved in a pillow. 

Sigyn had glimpsed Loki from afar many a time- the first time she’d seen the frost giant, he’d been wearing the face of a Midgardian farm boy, so pretty he could have been a girl.  Now, Loki possessed a small Roman girl, dark haired and olive skinned, beautiful as Helen of Troy. 

Only this time, Loki wasn’t flaunting her curves or flashing smiles at pretty people in the hall.  This time, Loki lay limp on the bed, and she was pregnant- Sigyn could sense the new life in the room as easily as she could see the frost giant in front of her. 

Physically, there was no need for a midwife or appointments throughout the pregnancy- Loki’s body, as far as Sigyn could tell, took care of itself just fine, the strange energy that surrounded Loki healing any wound as small as a papercut or as big as a stab wound (though she heard from Thor that Loki generally needed a new body if it was a headshot- he had trouble healing brains correctly). 

But mentally, Loki had fallen from the confident, cocky goddess she had been before, and Sigyn found herself stepping into the role of therapist (though no word had been invented for it yet).  Loki talked.  A lot.  Even when she was in tears, it only took a little bit of prodding to get her talking.  Sigyn often wondered how the strange frost giant had the lung capacity for it.

Thor began calling Sigyn whenever he couldn’t get Loki out of a mood, not for medicine, but for her ability to guide Loki’s chattering until the frost giant had worked herself through whatever dark thoughts had possessed her that night.  And somewhere in those long months, Sigyn moved from doctor to friend.  Suddenly, she was being called when there was nothing wrong.  She’d rushed in one night to find that Freya, Thor, and Loki simply needed an extra person for a card game, because Heimdall was out on a mission in Muspelheim.  Another night, Loki had summoned her so she wouldn’t be the only sober one at the feast. 

“I need to get wasted to get through this stupid play, but then my baby will be ugly,” Loki had said, lounging sideways on her throne while Thor laughed uproariously at the comedy-play being put on by a group of traveling actors.  He slammed a fist against the table, spilling half his beer, and a servant scurried over with a refill.  Loki had waved a hand to telepathically push the spilled drink away from her.  “Lemme pay you to be my friend and distract me.”

Sigyn had smiled slightly.  “The free food will be enough payment,” she’d replied, and Loki’s smile had warmed her more than any flagon of mead ever could.

There were three people in the room when Sleipnir was born- Sigyn, Laufey, and Thor (Thor hadn’t wanted to be there, in a woman’s place, but Loki had insisted between contractions).  All three of them heard the inhuman wail when Sleipnir’s essence tore apart Loki’s; all three saw the shadows of wings on the wall; all three watched as Loki, even in a haze of pain, had traced a protective rune on the baby’s still-bloody skin before passing out. 

Sigyn had been there, feeding the leggy, shapeshifting foal a bottle of goat’s milk, when Loki had awoken nearly two days later.  The first thing Loki had done was hold her baby, coo over the child and murmur strange words in a language Sigyn had never heard. 

The second thing she’d done was vanish to find a new body, despite the one she was wearing still being in good health. 

It was sometime later, after Sleipnir had grown, that Loki had showed up at her door with flowers and a picnic basket, possessing an attractive red-haired Midgardian man.  “I’m courting you,” he’d said bluntly, tilting his head as he waited for her reaction. 

Sigyn would have saved herself thousands of years of sorrow if she’d turned him away on that first day, if she’d ultimately chosen Theoric the warrior. 

But between the simple life of a soldier’s wife or the complex puzzle that was Loki, Theoric didn’t stand a chance. 

And now, thousands of years later, Sigyn’s dead sons had been back for three days and she wasn’t sure if she was feeling so many emotions at once that she was numb or if she really just was numb.  She’d had no other children since them- she had helped many women, and her little vacation inn often served as a home for girls in trouble, children who had been abandoned, or even just someone who needed a job for a few months to get on their own feet.  But she’d never thought she’d end up helping her own long-dead boys, and now…

She hadn’t seen Loki in ages.  They’d met up a few times, after he’d escaped the chains, but how could she make eye contact when she was looking into the golden eyes of her children?  And he didn’t deal well with the grief, but she couldn’t help him, not when seeing him broke her too.  So the meetings had stopped.  Loki turned to Kali the Destroyer, and Sigyn started working in the mortal world, and while the pair were on good terms, they hadn’t actually exchanged anything but the occasional letter in many, many years. 

 But now that he was dead, the truth had been set free, and the two boys sitting in Sigyn’s living room, playing with a cat, were the sons of archangels.  And they’d been back for three days, sitting idle, stewing in their own grief and fear, and it was Sigyn’s job to get them moving again. 

Though without Loki, she had no idea how to care for an archangel child.

“Alright,” she said, sitting down on the couch, laptop in hand.  “I’m going to catch you two up on human history.  It’s been a while, but I think you’ll like the future.”

Nari’s eyes rested on the laptop, sparking in curiosity.  “How do you use that?” he asked.  “I’ve seen people with them-”

“A computer,” Sigyn said, opening the screen.  Vali remained on the floor, twitching his fingers in front of the cat until it would pounce, but Nari hopped onto the couch next to her, the spark of curiosity tangible in his grace.  “We’ll have a history lesson, and then I’ll show you some human weapons now- Val, you’ve heard of guns, right?”

He perked slightly.  “They had them in the East- Thor showed me once.”

Sigyn hadn’t been sure when guns were invented, but she supposed it made sense that the Chinese had invented gunpowder first (they’d invented everything first, or so it seemed).  But Thor taking the boy on a fieldtrip to the East, to a dangerous land of explosives and dragons, rubbed her the wrong way, though she wasn’t surprised that nobody had mentioned it to her- she would have said no. 

Sierra’s husband was an avid hunter though, and Sigyn had already called to see if he minded taking her boys out shooting.  If there was anything that would shake Vali from his grief, it would be weapons.  Had he not been killed, he would have been formally apprenticed to Thor, growing up to join the prince of Asgard’s honor guard. 

Sure enough, Vali perked slightly at that, moving from the floor to the couch, dragging the cat up with him.  Sigyn pulled up the world history PowerPoint she’d stolen from some teacher’s website on the internet.  Until she figured out her formal next step, the boys would certainly be caught up on the world.  She couldn’t risk them not knowing the dangers of modern times. 

 

_The Bunker_

Sam dreamt that he was in the Cage.

The archangels before him were beautiful, creatures of light and sunshine, with six wings and a thousand eyes and scars that rent their grace with ugly shadows.  And they were fighting with tooth, claw, and wing, and their grace cast light so bright that it burned Sam’s mind, but he couldn’t blink- he was nothing but soul, his body and what tiny protection it gave gone.

A wing, a bulk of muscle and feather and burning-cold grace, slammed him into a bar, but he couldn’t even cry out as the cold burned him, rending his existence, making the universe blink in and out of being.  He would have sobbed, but he couldn’t even scream, and then Lucifer was there, cradling him. 

 _It’s okay, Samuel Winchester_ , Lucifer whispered in Enochian, and his face was so glorious that Sam could have wept.  He reached out towards the touch, trying to be close to Lucifer, trying to become Lucifer, the cold enveloping his soul. 

 _That’s right, Samuel Winchester_ , Lucifer whispered, holding him up.  _I am your everything._

“Oh gods, can we not?” 

Gabriel’s voice was shaky, and Lucifer’s head whipped around.  He screamed angrily, and Gabriel flinched away, throwing up a protective arm, but the dream was already melting away, leaving them both standing in a smallish, warm apartment.  An armchair, a table with a few chairs, a doorway leading to a bedroom, a dog bed in the corner… it looked completely normal, except that Gabriel didn’t even need to look first before he collapsed in the chair, shaking.

Sam didn’t feel much better, his own hands trembling.  “Sorry,” he said awkwardly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.  “Sometimes those nightmares just…”

“You’re fine.”  Gabriel held up a trembling hand, not looking up.  “Don’t- shoulda caught it when your heart started beating faster.”

They were both silent for a moment, and then Gabriel looked up.  He looked even more tired in the dream, dark circles under his eyes, which seemed a duller gold than usual.  “How…?” He started, but then he closed his eyes and looked away. 

Sam knew the unasked question though- how had he ended up in the Cage, how did he know the true forms of Lucifer and Michael?  The nightmare left him feeling weak and sick, but as bad as he felt facing off against Lucifer, he knew the glimpse must have killed Gabriel.  Gabriel, who was already dealing with so many other problems, didn’t need to deal with Sam’s flashbacks too. 

“Is this your place?”  Sam looked around, trying to change the subject.  He’d expected something more extravagant.  “It’s nice.”

Gabriel waved a dismissive hand.  “It’s just a crashing spot,” he said awkwardly, moving so that he was lounging sideways in the chair, deceptively relaxed. 

“There’s a dog bed over there,” Sam said, blinking and then looking over at Gabriel.

“Yeah… dunno what happened to him.  When it all went down.”  Gabriel gazed at the dog bed a moment, then closed his eyes and let his head drop back. 

Sam stood, awkward for a moment, not sure what else to say.  Lucifer’s voice echoed in his head, and he couldn’t help but note the differences between the archangels- Lucifer was possessive.  Gabriel was eager, but quick to back off if he sensed he wasn’t wanted.  Lucifer was manipulative.  Gabriel was… also manipulative, but in a less malicious way, maybe? 

But if it came down to it, Sam would rather be the vessel for Gabriel than Lucifer.  He trusted Gabriel.  He didn’t feel like he belonged to Gabriel, like he did with Lucifer.  He felt like Gabriel was giving him the choice. 

So he took it, and moved a little closer, to sit on the edge of the chair next to Gabriel.  Gently, he reached out to brush a bit of hair from Gabriel’s face. 

The archangel stirred, suddenly wrapping his body around Sam’s.  “I’m sorry, kiddo,” he whispered, sitting up to touch Sam’s face.  “About them.  I’m so sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”  Sam rested his hand on Gabriel’s thigh- he wasn’t sure how this was supposed to work.  Was cuddling with a guy different from a girl?  Jess and Maddie and Ruby had all been softer, smaller than Sam.  They’d all been athletic, able to keep pace with him, but tiny as pixies next to Sam, and Gabriel-

Well, Gabriel had the height down, but he wasn’t nearly as athletic as former relationships.  His vessel was softer, made for day to day life rather than hard workouts, and there was little curve in his thigh, at least, not like there was in a woman. 

Gabriel’s expression moved from sorrow to amusement when Sam touched his leg, the darkness in his eyes taking a back seat to something lighter.  “Come on now, none of that,” he said, pushing Sam’s hand away.  “Wait until we’re alone.”  He leaned forward, lips brushing Sam’s ear.  “Then I’ll show you what’s up.”

Sam’s breath hitched, face burning as he remembered that in real life, Gabriel’s vessel was curled protectively around a child.  Gabriel chuckled, pushing Sam back in the chair so he could lean against the hunter’s chest, slumping down and closing his eyes, and Sam felt a sting of shame- Gabriel was in no shape for anything romantic like that right now.  He needed rest and needed to meet his family and had just been forced to look on his brothers fighting again-

“I can hear your guilt,” Gabriel grumbled against Sam’s chest.  “It’s too loud.  Stop.”

Sam looked away, face burning.  “I’m sorry, I-”

A hand pressed against his mouth and Gabriel sat up some, eyes narrowed.  “Wouldja stop?” he asked.  “I can take care of myself.  I’m not some pity case, okay?  Trust me, if I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t.”

Sam blinked, but his voice had been stolen from his mouth.  Gabriel moved upwards so he was on eye level with Sam.  “Look,” he said slowly.  “The only reason I’m going slow with this is because I… don’t… know, why we’re sharing dreams like this.  It isn’t a normal thing?  And I… really… really kinda dig you, so…” He laughed awkwardly, looking away.  “So I just wanna make sure this isn’t some trick that’s gonna get ripped out from under me.”

Sam blinked.  “I…”

“Yeah, I know, if it’s a trick and you’re just a mortal, you wouldn’t be able to fight it.”  Gabriel sat up, straddling Sam’s stomach, but he looked too worried for it to be sexy.  “And if I dive into this and it’s someone manipulating you and you don’t want it…”  He looked down at Sam, eyes dark, and then got up, leaving Sam on the chair.  “I just gotta figure out what it is first.”

“I want you too.”  Sam sat up, blinking.  “I mean, it’s kinda weird, because I’ve never been with a guy before, but I’m willing to learn for you, and-”

“And if you’re really straight and this is some cosmic joke…?”  Gabriel waved a hand.  “I don’t mind being the subject if it’s genuinely _you_ feeling a little bi-curious, but if it’s isn’t you talking-”

 “It _is_ me talking right now,” Sam said, leaning forward.  “Listen, Gabe, even if this is some trick, I like you.  A lot.  Not randomly either, it wasn’t sudden… it was gradual.  You’re… you’re everything I thought angels were, before the apocalypse.  You’re righteous and you protect the innocent and-”

“Stop it!”  Gabriel stepped back, waving a hand to silence Sam again.  “I don’t know.  I don’t know if it’s really you, and I can’t… if it’s not, and I go too far, then I’m in the wrong, because I’m the archangel and you’re the human, and I _won’t_ do that to you.  Okay?  Not until I know.”

Sam was quiet for a moment, feeling like he’d gotten kicked.  “ _You_ kissed _me_ ,” he finally said, and it came out a bit too sour for his own taste. 

And then the guilt was back when Gabriel turned away, rubbing his hands down his face, falling silent.  The silence felt too loud now, and when Sam reached out to touch Gabriel’s shoulder, the dream disintegrated, and he woke up to find that the only other person in the bed was Luke, still asleep, and that Gabriel had vanished. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This woulda been out last week except I'm making alpaca yarn fingerless gloves for the Renaissance Fair and you can't knit and write (But the instagram for my knitting projects is @tangledstitches if anyone is interested lmfao) 
> 
> Also I may have binge watched Duck Tales and accidently rekindled my David Tennant passion from when I was 15 and now I hardcore miss Rose Tyler (SHE DESERVED THE REAL DOCTOR NOT THE COPY HE LEFT HER OKAY) Also I can't watch the new ones with the lady doc because I don't have BBC or antivirus on my laptop so fml. but tbh I still think 9 was my fave? Like, that WWII gas mask episode that was super terrifying and but at the end everybody lived cemented 9 for me and I wish he had more seasons


	6. Chapter 6

_The bunker_

Jack didn’t sleep much. 

He didn’t like the silence while everybody else slept, and now especially, it seemed to close in.  He could see faces in the dark, hear the screams of dying demons and humans.  They lurked in the shadows, bodies gaping open, begging for help on a battlefield that only existed in Jack’s mind. 

He tried to read to distract himself, and then tried watching TV, then got himself a bowl of ice cream.  The late night sitcoms weren’t funny- Jack didn’t have any context for him.  He found a cartoon channel and left it on there, wrapping his arms around his legs and wondering if Danny Fenton was as upset by the ghosts as Jack now felt. 

Probably not.  Danny was a half-ghost that used his powers to help people.  Jack was a half angel who’s powers only got in the way. 

There was a grunt from the doorway, and then Gabriel trod in, the carton of ice cream and a spoon in his hands.  “You should be sleeping, kid,” he said, and slumped down on the couch next to Jack.  “Not watching cartoons.”  He looked over at the TV.  “Had a girlfriend who worked on this show once,” he said after a moment, gesturing vaguely with the spoon.  “Or maybe a different one by the same people… Who knows?  Had a girlfriend in cartooning.”  He licked a smear of ice cream off the back of his hand. 

Jack waited for the story, but none came, so he just shrugged.  “I don’t sleep much,” he admitted. 

Gabriel grunted in reply.  “Ah, to be a fledgling again.”

Jack wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he fell quiet.  He wondered how many battles Gabriel had seen, when he was living with the frost giants.  He wondered if Gabriel still heard the echoes, when he closed his eyes at night, or if those had long faded.

The pair sat in silence.  The only sound was the TV, set on low volume, as the ghost boy battled it out with the vengeful spirit of a child.  Occasionally, Gabriel’s spoon would scrape against the side of the box.  Jack sat right next to an archangel, his uncle, but he could sense nothing more than a demigod beside him, a low level trickster that was way below Sam and Dean’s league. 

“Are you really an archangel?” he finally blurted out, looking over at him.  “Why don’t you show anybody your wings?”

For a moment, Gabriel didn’t respond, and Jack thought he’d overstepped his bounds.  But then the trickster glanced over mildly, licking ice cream off the spoon.  “Easier that way,” he finally said, shrugging and looking back at the TV.  “Don’t gotta deal with people asking for autographs.”

Jack frowned, but Gabriel didn’t add anything else.  Jack was quiet for another long moment, and then he looked over again.  “Have you ever killed anyone?”

Gabriel paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth, then lowered it.  “Yeah, lots of people.  What’s up, kiddo?”

Jack looked away, cheeks suddenly burning.  Gabriel had killed so many times that it was casual to him, that he could recount it while eating ice cream.  Did he see their faces?  It had been only a day, and Jack still saw the head of the demon he’d slain bouncing away- how long would that last?

“Hey, kiddo, those people today?  They were bad guys.”  Gabriel half turned on the couch.  “You hear me?  They were keeping people against their will and doing evil things.  You were defending the good.  That’s what you were made for.”

“I wasn’t made for anything,” Jack whispered.  “I’m the son of Lucifer.  I’m just a whim-”

Gabriel flinched violently at the name, and Jack slumped.  That only cemented it further: Lucifer was an evil being, and Jack nothing more than his son.  Even Gabriel was afraid, Gabriel, who had seen and done and lived so much…

“Hey,” Gabriel said, quickly recovering enough to reach over and shove the spoon into Jack’s mouth.  “At least you _were_ a whim.  My kids?”  He laughed.  “Complete accidents, most of them.”

Jack’s nose wrinkled as he pulled the spoon from his mouth, swallowing the ice cream.  “How do you have a child by accident?”

Gabriel blinked, then snatched the spoon back.  “Lucifer wasn’t evil by nature,” he said, changing the subject and looking back towards the TV.  “He was beautiful.  God’s favorite, before everything went down.  And he went down because of the Mark of Cain and his own free will.”  Gabriel’s expression darkened as he spoke.  “I don’t know if that part of him is left, but back then… you remind me of him.  You’re a supernova, kiddo.”  He looked over, and smiled gently. 

Jack wasn’t sure if there were tears in his eyes, or if it was just the reflection of the TV when Gabriel looked away again.  “And if killing isn’t to your taste, the nobler path is to find a way that doesn’t involve death.”  He stood up, the ice cream box now empty.  “Most superheroes have a no kill policy.  Batman.  Spiderman.  I think Captain America too, but he kills Nazis I think, so I’m not sure.  It’s harder, anyways.  But if anyone can do it, Lucifer’s kid can.”

Jack frowned at that, remembering the feeling of the man’s ribcage healing underneath his fingers.  “Do you think it’s really possible?”

“I hope so.”  Gabriel was silent for several minutes, silhouetted in the doorway.  “I need to find Castiel,” he finally said, and his voice was suddenly weak as though his vocal cords were still being ravaged by the venom.  “I have business.  Tell Sam, when he wakes up…” He trailed off.  “Tell him I’m sorry, and that I’ll be back soon.”  He paused.  “And tell him, if there’s some spare time, to hit the books.  He’ll know what I’m talking about.” 

“Hit the books about what?” Jack asked, but Gabriel had already slipped from the room, leaving Jack alone. 

Jack watched him go, and then went to find Sam.  He ignored the hunter’s questioning eyes as he flopped in the bed between him and Luke.  The bodiless demon head bouncing across the grass seemed further away when he was sandwiched between two souls. 

“Gabriel said he’d be back soon,” he whispered, hoping Sam wouldn’t leave, though the hunter was still perched on the side of the bed.  “He said you need to research something.”

Sam froze, and Jack could sense his indecision.  He reached out, wordlessly pleading with Sam to stay. 

And to his surprise, Sam did stay.  He lay back down beside Jack, brushing his hair from his face.  “You did good today,” he said, quiet as to not wake Luke.  “You okay?”

He didn’t want to talk about it.  He didn’t know how to talk about it, how to describe the heavy guilt that lay in his chest.  Could the demon’s vessel have been saved?  Was there a way to exorcise that many demons at once?

“I killed them,” he finally whispered.  “All of them.”

Sam’s breath caught a little.  “They were demons, Jack.  They were evil.”

“They were created by Lucifer,” he whispered.  “They were my brothers.”

And there, that was what sickened him the most.  Because everything that Lucifer created was evil.  And Lucifer had created Jack. 

Ergo, Jack was evil. 

“They weren’t,” Sam said, but Jack didn’t believe him.  He fell silent, wishing that Castiel really were his father, and not just the one whose grace Jack had been born familiar with. 

No, that was a lie, he thought as he lay there.  He wished that Sam were his father.  But how could Sam truly care for an abomination?

 

_New York_

It had been a mere whim, coming this early to see where Sigyn and the boys were.  Castiel had offered to wait until morning, but Gabriel had insisted that he needed to go right then, and now they were waiting in a playground down the street from Sigyn’s house. 

Gabriel paced back and forth around the edge of the playground.  Castiel could sense the jittering energy surrounding the archangel.  Gabriel had always been energetic.  Even back in Heaven, he had been the most eager of the archangels, always springing into new missions down to Earth.  Castiel would have guessed that age would calm him down a bit, but standing still seemed to be out of question. 

“They are fine, Gabriel,” Castiel said again, in an effort to calm his brother.  “They’re with their mother.  You could wake them now, if you’re that anxious over it.”

“I’m not waking them.  They deserve sleep.”  He paced back and forth, wearing a path in the wood chips. 

Castiel sighed from the bench.  “You should sleep as well.  You’re exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” Gabriel snapped, looking up sharply.  The dark circles under his eyes said otherwise. 

“You were tortured this morning,” Castiel pointed out.  “I healed the physical wounds, but your grace-”

“I slept the whole car ride.” Gabriel’s eyes were fixed on the wood chip path he was creating.  “And I got a few hours tonight.  I’m good.  Chill.”

“And you came back from the dead how long ago?”  Castiel’s eyes followed Gabriel back and forth across the playground.  “You’re going to pass out if you keep pushing yourself when your grace is this low.”

“Well, how come you’re all fine and dandy?”  Gabriel waved a hand in Castiel’s direction.  “You got resurrected too, and you’re over there shining like a freaking beacon.”

“I… don’t know.”  Castiel tilted his head.  “The Empty sent me back-”

“Oh, there it is.”  Gabriel waved a hand.  “Raph and I had to fight back.”  He paused midstep.  “I mean, Raph had to fight, and I kinda got dragged along.”  His pacing continued. 

Over in the trees, an early bird started singing a high, twittering song.  “Raphael fought?” Castiel asked, head tilting again. 

“Yeah.”  Gabriel’s voice had gone flat.  “She smited the cosmic dude, and then we bolted out of there.  Why, how’d you get out?”

“I had to annoy my way out.”  Castiel thought that Gabriel would have had an easier time at that.  “I had to face my own failings.  When I refused to back down and go back to sleep, the Empty sent myself and your sons back to Earth in order to return his realm to peace and quiet.”  He hesitated.  “What was your experience?”

Gabriel stopped again, back to Castiel.  “Yeah, kinda the same,” he finally said, and continued the steps.  “Took on my face and all that jazz.  Big steaming helping of all my biggest failures.”  He laughed bitterly and continued in his path, kicking out any dry woodchips so it would be a line of the damp bottom layer.  “Kinda amusing, you know, if you were an outsider looking in.”

The bird was really going at it in the bushes.  Castiel could hear it hopping around.  “If you were given the opportunity, why did Raphael need… to… fight… oh.”

Gabriel paused to raise an eyebrow, and then dropped his head, continuing his pacing.  “Yeah.  Kinda a screwup, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Is that what you wanted?  Eternal sleep?”

Gabriel shot a glare his way.  “I’m not suicidal.  I wouldn’t go back.  But he made a good sales pitch, is all.”  He dropped the glare and dragged his hands down his face.  “Can you do me a favor?”

Castiel hesitated.  “What is it?” he asked, unwilling to agree to something when he didn’t know what it was. 

“Could you scan Sammich when you get back?  Lemme know if there’s any curses or spells on him.”  He returned to his pacing, scuffing his feet.  The line was a deep black in the early dawn gloom.  

“Is there a particular-”

“I have no idea what you’d be looking for.”

“Then why look?”

Gabriel winced, and a frown crossed Castiel’s face.  “Is this about the kiss you shared with him?  I highly doubt that Sam is allowing you to kiss him because he’s under some spell that we somehow never noticed.  More likely, he is genuinely attracted-”

“Castiel?”  Gabriel held up a hand.  “Stop talking.  Okay?  There’s other stuff- we’ve been sharing dreams too.”  He paused, considering the words.  “And he came to see me when I was dead-dead.”

“Oh.”  Castiel’s brow creased as he thought about that.  “That’s… impossible.”

“Except it happened.”  Gabriel ran a hand down his face.  “I just wanna make sure whatever is binding us isn’t… affecting, you know, emotions in some way.  Fine, you know, if it’s just the dream stuff and the emotion stuff is actually him.  But if it’s all just a curse…”  He slumped a little, and continued pacing. 

Castiel was silent for a moment.  “Do you love him?” he finally asked. 

Gabriel’s pacing paused again.  “Haven’t had enough time to find out,” he finally said, honest in the dreamlike light of dawn.  He was looking down at the woodchips, like they were going to divulge some secret.  “Could.  Maybe.  In the future, if this doesn’t blow up in my face.”  He started pacing again.  “Or maybe I just want someone who doesn’t hate my guts for once.”

“I don’t hate you.”

Gabriel barked a laugh at that.  “I abandoned you, remember?  Left you to rot with the other angels.  Don’t tell me you don’t hate me a little bit for that.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes.  “I… resent you.  A bit.  You made light of your duties in Heaven, and you left me as the sole bearer of the knowledge that you were alive.  Your brothers wept over you, and I couldn’t tell them that their grief was in vain.” 

“Exact-”

“I wasn’t finished.”  Castiel stood, stepping towards Gabriel.  “Your duty was to Heaven, and you abandoned it.  But you created a life here, and you taught me that free will doesn’t always mean choosing to follow Michael’s commands.  Sometimes it means doing what’s right, even when it’s the hardest thing to do.”

He was right in front of Gabriel now.  He was taller than his older brother, his grace stronger.  In that moment, he surpassed the archangel.  It was an odd feeling, to know that he held the power.  Gabriel was relying on him.  And yet, would he have rebelled if he hadn’t seen Gabriel do it already?  Would he have been open to the bond he held with Dean Winchester if he didn’t know that Gabriel had already bonded with somebody in such a way?

And now Gabriel was in love with Sam.  Maybe.  Potentially.  An archangel, a cosmic being from the beginning of time, cared about a human so much that he wanted to make sure the human was using free will to reciprocate.  It was well within the archangel’s power to just make Sam love him, and yet he refused to shape Sam’s mind.

“You showed me that there was another way to do things,” Castiel said.  “I didn’t understand at the time.  But I think I’m starting to.”

Gabriel looked up at him, mouth half open, then shook his head.  “Nah, Cassie,” he said, reaching out to pat Castiel’s arm.  “You figured it out all on your own.”

 

_Heaven_

Eileen’s jaw dropped when introductions had been made.  She’d heard stories about the mother-daughter duo that had hunted with Sam and Dean nearly ten years before.  They were legends, a couple of ass-kicking ladies saving the world while still keeping ice cold beer on tap.  And they certainly looked as impressive as their story indicated.  Ellen stood behind the bar, arms crossed as she surveyed Eileen.  Jo rested one hand on her hip, low-slung pants showing off toned abs. 

If Eileen wanted to fix Heaven, she had come to the right place. 

“You’re saying those boys are alive?”  Ellen shook her head fondly..

“Well, they’ve died a few times,” Eileen admitted.  “But they keep coming back.”

“Oh, so all the extra lives get used on them?”  Jo huffed and went back to rubbing down the same part of the bar, over and over.  “I want an extra life.  Just the chance to shove a blade in a hellhound-”  She grinned and mimed stabbing something.  “Watch it yip all sadly-”

“No.”  Ellen poured a beer and set it on the bar in front of Eileen.  “Sit down.  So you’re saying the angels are after you?” 

Eileen looked between them.  “Yes,” she said, and took a sip of the beer.  It tasted cheap and maybe a tad watery.  It tasted like any bar on Earth.  She took a larger mouthful before setting it down again.  “They want me to tell them where Sam is, so that-”

“Hold up.”  Jo held up her hands.  “Why do you know where Sam is?  Were you two…?”

Eileen blushed, despite the situation, and looking down at the drink in front of her.  “No.  Not really.  Maybe… but no.”

She pretended not to notice Jo and Ellen exchange disappointed looks, hiding her embarrassment behind another swig of beer.  “Basically,” she said when she’d set down the sweating glass, “Sam and Dean have Lucifer’s son.  I think.  Last I knew.  And-”

“Wait, _Lucifer_?”  Jo leaned forward, then looked sharply back at Ellen.  “Mom.  Mom, they’re still fighting Lucifer.”

“Um… more like fighting him again.”  Eileen made a face.  “They already defeated him the first time.  And then… a lot has happened.  And then I got killed.  By a hellhound.”

Jo nodded gravely.  “Hellhounds are bitches.”

“Agreed.” 

The two girls nodded at each other, and then Eileen shook herself.  “But I don’t want the angels to find Sam and Dean… so until I can get a message to them somehow, I want to keep the angels off their tail.”

“You sound like you have a plan on how to do that.”  Ellen crossed her arms.  “And anyone who hunts with the Winchester boys is crazy.”

“This… might be a little crazy.”  Eileen caught one of the drips of condensation on her finger.  Her plan wasn’t very well formed, and it consisted of a lot of blank spaces where they would just have to make things up as they went, but…

“Souls here are kept in memories,” she said slowly, looking between them.  “Each one is on their own unless they’re soulmates, right?  But then you’re not really with your loved ones.  And I’d… I’d like to see my parents.”  She hadn’t even realized that was a possibility until the words slipped out of her mouth, and she looked down at the beer. 

“So my plan is to knock down the walls between the Heavens,” Eileen said quickly, before she could mull over the plan too much.  “I just need to figure out how-”

Ellen and Jo were staring at Eileen, but suddenly both their eyes refocused behind her.  Eileen jumped up, whirling around, ready to bolt from the angels-

The discarded pile of beer cans and sweatshirts on the pool table had moved, and now a man sat there, squinting slightly.  “I said,” he said, “maybe I can be of assistance.”

Eileen blinked.  He had a mullet.  She was dead, and planning a mass destruction of Heaven, and a man with a mullet had just offered his assistance.

The giggle escaped her lips before she could stop it, though she did her best to stifle it.  Out of the corner of her vision, she caught Jo rolling her eyes and muttering, “Yep.  That’s Ash.”

“You laughing at me?”  Ash swaggered forward, swinging his arms.  “I’ll have you know, I am an _expert_ on Heaven’s grace fields.  And also, I didn’t get killed by a hellhound.  So I feel like I’m missing out on some of this lady camaraderie.”

Eileen took a breath to stifle her giggles.  “So… I like your hair-”

“Thanks, girl.  Business in the front.  Party… in the back.”  He turned sharply, flipping the silky mane like a shampoo commercial. 

Eileen glanced back at Ellen and Jo. 

“Yep,” Jo said, shaking her head.  “He’s for real.  Old family friend and total genius.  If anyone can help you with total destruction of Heaven, he can.”

“Woah, woah, woah.”  Ellen moved around the bar, holding up her hands.  “Nobody said anything about destroying Heaven.  This is a little distraction to keep the angels away from Sam and Dean, not-”

“DEMOLITION TIME!”  Ash punched the air.  “BOOM!  So the place we’re gonna wanna hit is the main garden-”

“NO!”  Ellen waved a hand, but Eileen was already sitting up straighter.  “The main garden?  Where’s that?”

“Right near the main hall, where the angels have their parties.”  Ash hopped up, spun around once, and considered something before he bolted to where he’d left his laptop.  “Been doing a lot of exploring.  Kinda making a map, listening in on the angel talk-”

Jo moved around so she was standing over Eileen’s shoulder.  “Ash figured out how to tap into angel radio,” she explained to Eileen.  “He’s been keeping us up to date with the news.”

“The news?”  Eileen peered at the computer screen, but it looked like nothing but static lines to her.  “What news has happened recently?”

“Well… you already know about Jack the Nephilim,” Ash said, clicking through a few pages to another page of bullet pointed notes.  “Total badass kid who’s got the power to destroy the universe.  Uh, what else… Raph is back, but they ran that Ninja Turtle out of Heaven, so no problemo there.  Basically, now they’re just looking for the kid.  Oh, yeah, and there’s so few of them that Heaven’s probably gonna go lights out soon enough.”

“Lights out?”  Eileen repeated it to make sure she’d read his lips right.  “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Ash said, pushing the laptop aside and steepling his fingers, studying Eileen’s face gravely.  “What I mean is that each angel is about the same as a Duracell battery.  Each bunny keeps on banging his drum, powering up Heaven, until the bunnies start killing each other.  Then, there’s no power left.”

“Wait- Ash, you haven’t mentioned this.”  Ellen walked forward, looking between the screen and his face. 

“Really?  Coulda sworn I told you guys about it last night.”  Ash pursed his lips and shrugged.  “Yeah, Heaven’s real destabilized right now.  Thing is, it’s sitting on a giant pile of souls, which could also be used to power them up.  Buuut they just lock us away in our tiny rooms.  Their loss.” 

Eileen frowned, looking down at the dirty floor as she processed the information.  “So you’re saying that by releasing the souls, we could repower Heaven?” she asked slowly, looking up to read the responses.

Ash tilted his head.  “Ehhhh, either that or blow the place up and destabilize the entire universe.  I’d say we’d want some heavyweights guiding the soul power.  Maybe we should start hunting down this Jack kid.”

“In conclusion,” Ellen said fiercely, “we are not blowing anything up until we’ve decided on a course of action.”

“Dammit,” Jo grumbled under her breath, and Eileen elbowed her apologetically.

 

_Somewhere on Earth_

There was a certain series of wormholes connecting different points in the universe.  They folded space, creating short cuts so a journey of weeks would take only minutes, so that the energy expended would be reduced to the equivalent of a brisk walk rather than a dozen triathlons.  They cut through the chaotic core of Reality itself, pathways of order that sliced through ever-expanding entropy. 

They also had the fingerprint of the dead angel Gabriel all over them, like long ago, when the universe was young and malleable, the archangel had busted through the fabric to create himself a quicker way to carry his messages.  This fingerprint meant that nobody else could access them, not unless Gabriel himself were the one opening the door. 

Yggdrasil, the great tree that connected the Nine Realms previously under Odin’s control, was a fluke that had grown up around one of these wormholes, feeding off the energy that was given off as the universe expanded and the pathway remained the same distance.  It stabilized those nine worlds, anchoring them into orbit around the wormhole, and provided a bridge to travel between them.

Unless, of course, someone possessed grace that was a near replica of Gabriel’s and knew the access points of the wormhole itself.  Then, they could bypass the branches of the tree and slip through reality, shortening a journey that might last weeks or more to a few minutes, a half hour at most. 

This was the way Sleipnir and Thor took- Thor had no hope of jumping through the wormhole himself, but the eight-legged stallion had spent nine months enveloped by the grace of the being who had created the path.  The entrance recognized Loki and Sleipnir as one and the same (hence why Odin had recognized Sleipnir as his main means of transport as well as his warhorse). 

Of course, there was no direct line from Asgard to Helheim, and the quickest way was to stop through Earth first.  Thor’s weight was familiar on Sleipnir’s back as he leapt through the stone wall marked with an ancient Enochian rune, and for nearly fifteen minutes, the pair travelled in silence.  There was nothing but darkness under Sleipnir’s hooves.  The walls of the tunnel blurred, and every once and a while a smear of light would denote a far off galaxy.  If one off them did try to speak, their voice would be ripped from their mouth by a lack of air.

(A human would not have lasted the journey).  

It was an uncanny silence.  If Sleipnir strained, he imagined he could hear a hum, far off, an echo of the song of creation itself.  Or maybe it was just his imagination. 

When his hooves touched down on Earth, Thor drew in a massive gulp of air, sliding down from Sleipnir’s back so he was standing on the grass.  “I hate those shortcuts,” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair and over his beard. 

Sleipnir’s ear flicked unconsciously at a sound, and then he swung his head to look over towards the grove of trees that grew nearby the circle of runestones that marked the exit point.  “Brother.”

Thor followed his gaze, then groaned.  “Come out, Wolf.”

For a moment, nothing happened, but then the grey wolf stepped out from the trees.  Gold eyes rested on Thor for a moment, not particularly pleased to see him, and then moved to Sleipnir.  “I’m not here to fight, unfortunately,” he said to Thor.  “I need to have a little conversation with my baby bro.”

“I have news for you as well.”  Sleipnir turned to Thor, the white braids of his mane swinging with every movement of his head.  “We’ll be an hour, at most.”  He paused, remembering the command of his father to check the location of the heavy warding he’d found.  It would due to know what it was, even if he planned on keeping the information for himself. 

“Only an hour,” Thor insisted, but he didn’t argue against the delay.  All three knew that arguing with Loki’s children was near impossible.  Thor accepted the delay and vanished, going to spend his hour somewhere on Earth.

When the god of thunder had vanished, Fenrir sat back on his haunches.  “I thought you were taking over Asgard,” he said, tail thumping a few times in amusement.  “You’re not supposed to chauffeur the king you’re trying to depose.”

Sleipnir shook out his mane in annoyance.  “Brother, you know nothing of the politics of Asgard.  I cannot simply _take over_.  It takes years of manipulation to change the mind sof the immortal Aesir if I want my rule to be-”

“Yeah, I don’t care.  Sounds boring.”  Fenrir wagged his tail.  “Anyways, Dad’s back from the dead.”

Sleipnir tried to be surprised.  He really, really did.  He widened his eyes and trotted back a step like Fenrir’s news threw him, but really...

“Yeah, somehow I wasn’t surprised either,” Fenrir said.  His tail was still thumping lightly against the ground.  Not a full wag, but he was clearly happy with the situation.  And why wouldn’t he be?  He and Loki were friends as much as father and son.  They’d gone through countless battles together, had been imprisoned and chained at the same time.  The first thing Loki had done when he freed himself was to cut the rope Gleipnir and free Fenrir. 

While Sleipnir wasn’t _disappointed_ by Loki being alive, his tail still flicked in annoyance.  If Loki began advising Thor, then Sleipnir could kiss the throne goodbye.  And, pure as his motive to protect Asgard was, he really was fond of the idea of being the one hailed as the hero, as the benevolent king who rose from the political turmoil of Odin’s death.  It would just make a good story, okay?

“As long as Loki stays out of my way, then we’ll have no problem,” Sleipnir said.  “Asgard needs a strong leader right now.”  He paused.  “I’m sure you’ll be equally overjoyed by the news that the babies were resurrected.”

The wag of Fenrir’s tail suddenly stopped.  “The babies?  Seriously?”

“I gave them the opportunity to join me, but-”

Fenrir was up on all fours now.  “Vali and Nari?  You’re sure?”

Sleipnir hesitated again and nodded.  “They should be with Sigyn now.  The angel said-”

“Wait-wait-wait.”  Fenrir bared his teeth in a warning for Sleipnir to stop talking.  “You left them with _an angel_?  You mean Dad’s ex-family?”

Sleipnir blinked slowly, stepping back from the snapping jaws of his older brother.  “It was the angel Castiel.  He was going to take them to Sigyn, although she hasn’t had anything to do with the gods in ages-”

“Castiel?”

“Yes.”  Sleipnir pawed at the ground with one of his back legs, unnerved by the way Fenrir’s ears lay back against his skull.  “Castiel, who was allied with Earth, against Heaven, according to my resources.  He should have been trustworthy.”

Fenrir growled deep in his chest.  “They had better be with Sigyn,” he said, stepping forward, ears back.  “Or you’ll-”

“They’re fine; they’re with their mother.”  Despite himself, Sleipnir still took a step back.  “You don’t have to trust me to go see for yourself.”

Fenrir growled again, and then shifted until he was human.  There was a sealed envelope in his hands.  “Bring this to Hela,” he said.

Sleipnir shifted to human as well, though he could still sense Fenrir’s unease.  Though it worried him to get close when the anger and worry was so quick to rise to the surface, he still took the letter and pressed it into his back pocket. 

“I’m going to the boys,” Fenrir snapped, stepping back.  “Making sure they’re okay.  Have fun with your stupid coup.” 

And he vanished. 

Sleipnir remained in the spot for another moment, watching the breeze brush through the grass.  The letter felt heavy in his pocket, and naturally, he took it out and opened it to read it.  When he’d skimmed over his half-brother’s handwriting, he paused. 

A Nephilim fathered by Lucifer was a very interesting piece of intel indeed. 

 

_The Bunker_

Sam didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.  For one, Jack wasn’t sleeping (not a rare occurrence, but worrying in the context of their last case).  For another, his last interaction with Gabriel kept playing over and over in his head. 

The TV played on low as to not wake Luke, who alone seemed to be resting peacefully (for the first time in his life?).  Jack snuggled against Sam’s side, eyes fixed on the late night cartoons, quiet and unwilling to talk further, so Sam just rested his arm around the boy and worried. 

Of course, the dream thing was weird.  But Sam was used to weird- hell, his very blood was a mix of weird.  And he had experience with love spells and potions.  Granted, those were experiences that he didn’t want to remember, but he had experience, and this did not feel like that.

There was no fogginess around his thoughts.  There were no explanation-less feelings.  The spark that had developed around the idea of Gabriel didn’t cancel out the Bad Things that Gabriel had done- on the contrary, if this was to go anywhere, Sam needed to clear the air about those things, sooner rather than later.

He could accept the reasoning behind the Mystery Spot debacle, but Gabriel needed to know that if _anything_ like that happened again, there would be no second chances. 

Love spells all shared a commonality, after all.  They caused infatuation, not true love.  The only one that could _possibly_ relate to true love would be a cupid’s interference, and even then, the low level angels were bringing together people who were meant to be (except in the case of Sam’s ancestors, when the cupids had manipulated people into creating the perfect vessels). 

But there were enough angels around that somebody would have sensed a cupid’s presence, so Sam ruled it out. 

Another option would have been Eros, or another love god.  This option was a bit more worrisome, especially since Gabriel had tricked the entirety of the pagan pantheons.  But as far as Sam knew, Gabriel was still considered dead, and it was hard to get revenge on somebody who was dead.  Although, making someone fall in love with Sam would be a very good means of revenge.

He ran a hand through his hair at the thought.  Why was he even considering this?  Gabriel deserved somebody better.  Sam was an abomination, a mishmash of demon blood and broken human soul.  Hell, he’d been possessed by _Lucifer_ , which meant that Lucifer’s grace was still inside him.  He belonged to Lucifer, on the most basic of levels, even if it made his own stomach clench with disgust. 

Gabriel deserved somebody who hadn’t been tainted like that.  Sam would only hurt him more than he’d already been hurt.  Gabriel had only been back for a few days, and Sam had already gotten him tortured.  He had seen Gabriel’s broken body, bloody foam at his lips, a glistening mess of a hand, a hundred cuts and wounds littering his body. 

How many more times would Gabriel be tortured if he stayed with Sam? 

So it was definitely better to break off… whatever was happening.  If Sam stopped it now, no deeper feelings would emerge, and neither of them would be heartbroken. 

Except breaking the budding feelings off made Sam ache in a way he hadn’t felt since his first rejection in high school.  He wanted the weight of Gabriel lying on his chest; he wanted the conspiratorial grins; he wanted the archangel’s lips, perpetually tasting of sugar and holy fire.  It didn’t matter that Gabriel possessed a man’s body- Gabriel was not a man, but an alien creature of stars and galaxies.  He was a wavelength of light; he was an unfathomable thing. 

And he had let Sam witness his true form, even powered down as it had been- Sam had seen the beast, had spoken with the snake that twined around the sleeping form of an archangel.  And he had seen the scars, the twisting of the scales around the snake’s eyes, where Gabriel had laid under the dripping venom after his sons had been killed.  He’d seen the great wings that granted flight through reality; he’d heard an echo of Gabriel’s true voice, the voice that had commanded armies and announced the birth of Christ and had spoken to Balaam and Daniel and Solomon.

Gabriel was unfathomable, but Sam, unworthy as he was, wanted to fathom the archangel.  He wanted to know him, to protect him from the pain and grief that had made him weep as he’d clung to Sam’s shirt.  He wanted to draw out the smiles from the first time they’d met, the easy grins and quirky words, and he wanted to destroy anybody who’d ever hurt the archangel.

So, yeah.  Maybe he was in trouble. 

But it was trouble that Sam was definitely falling into of his own free will. 

_Svartalfheim_

“Our buyer is interested in souls.  He has money, and we have the means.  But what are the means?  Direct your attention to the screen here.”  Dale Makson took out his laser pointer as the lights in the conference room dimmed.  “Helheim, our closest neighbor, has an overabundance of souls, as you can see from the graph.  However, it is also guarded by Hela Lokidottir and her monsters.  While we do have the resources for war, I have a better proposal.”

He clicked to the next slide, conscious of all the other dwarves in the room critiquing him.  This was his first real business proposal.  He needed to get this right. 

“Heaven is currently unguarded.”  He used the laser to follow the downward slope of the angelic population.  “And it holds an unparalleled number of souls.” 

His hands were sweating.  The laser pointer felt damp in his grip, but he didn’t dare dry his palms on his suit lest his superiors sense his fear.  But this plan was sure to work.  It had to work. 

“This reduces the chances of outright war, as the last of the angels are either weak from the Fall or scattered on Earth.  Transportation would be the only concern, but there is a direct path from Midgard.  An easy path, guarded only by one angel.”  He clicked the slide again, this time showing a photograph of a playground, and the coordinates as conveniently provided by Google. 

People were nodding.  There wasn’t even a catch to the plan- it was foolproof.  Dale almost shivered.  He was doing it.  He was moving up in Dark Elf society, through the crafting of ideas rather than metal.  This was going to work.

Someone interrupted.  “So what you’re saying, is that if someone took this path with a small force, they would be able to overrun Heaven’s defenses and take over completely?”

Dale nodded.  “Exactly.  Although, I wasn’t suggesting taking over.  I was only recommending taking the souls themselves-”

“Enough then.”  The man sitting at the table (a man, not a Dark Elf.  He was huge, over six foot, and even sitting he towered over the dwarven businessmen).  “Give me the details, and I will take care of my own business.”

“Your own…?”  Dale blinked, realization dawning on him.  “You’re the buyer?”

“And it will be considerably cheaper to handle soul acquisition myself if the angels are as weak as you say.”  The mystery buyer stood, and Dale had to crane his neck to look him in the eyes.  “I will need spies to confirm-”

“Well, you’re in luck, sir,” another businessman said, this one sitting on the other side of the table.  “My company specializes in trained mercenaries.”

The buyer nodded, rubbing his beard as he considered, and Dale opened his mouth to shout that his idea was being stolen. 

But he lost his nerve and looked sadly at his PowerPoint.  He had spent days working on it.  Now he would never see his payment. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk about this chapter but that's what you guys get for reading a WIP instead of a full finished piece sorry fam. But I'd ideally like to finish this before more school starts. Cause like, I started this last november, and now it's almost august so that's (hold up so I can count on my fingers) 10 months (gross too long). And then it'll be the 3rd full length junk that I've finished
> 
> Except like, one of those full length things is a harry potter knockoff I wrote when I was 12, and the other two are more full of plot holes than swiss cheese so oops basically I need a less frustrating hobby the end


	7. Chapter 7

_New York_

“Loki.”

Castiel and Gabriel turned simultaneously towards the woman’s voice.  She stood on the edge of the playground, eyes wide, a cardigan wrapped tightly around her body.  “Or should I call you Gabriel now?” she asked, stepping up onto the woodchips.  “Since that seems to be the name being thrown around.”

Gabriel remained silent, his eyes fixed on her.  Castiel was quiet, sinking into the background.  He had no place in this reunion.  His people had driven Gabriel from Heaven in the first place.  But still, Sigyn was grateful to the seraph.  He had brought her children back to her. 

And now her husband, to whom her attention returned. 

“I tried my hardest to be surprised when I sensed you,” she said, stepping forward and stopping.  Woodchips crunched under her feet.  “But you never stay dead.”

Gabriel gave the tiniest of nods.  For the first time, he was completely still.  It was unnatural. 

Sigyn swallowed, looking him up and down.  “You have a new vessel,” she said in the forced-casual tone of somebody dancing around the true subject.  “I like it.  It suits you.”

His lips tightened slightly in a mockery of a polite smile.  Sigyn’s heart clenched in her chest as she looked at the god- at the archangel-

She knew his pain better than anybody.  

And he knew hers as well. 

Some couples survived tragedy, but when the boys were slaughtered, Sigyn had known that they wouldn’t stay together.  Even now, his familiar gold eyes tugged at the old grief in her chest, threatening to rip open a wound that had long since scarred over.  Vali and Nari were alive, sleeping safe and sound in her house, but the old sorrow still clung like a bad habit, growing ever stronger in the presence of her old husband. 

He stared at her, waiting for her to make the first move.  His grace was weak but present, trained on her.  Even weakened as he was (by what?  She didn’t know, but she was too distracted to wonder what could lay low an archangel), he could destroy her with a thought. 

Yet, if she told him to leave, that he had no place in the lives of their sons after what he had done, she had no doubt that he would obey.  It would kill him, but he would take her word as gospel. 

Gospel. 

Her fingers twisted in her cardigan. 

The Gospel of Luke.  The Book of Daniel.  The Book of Enoch, the Quran, hell, even the Mormons-

“Why?” she finally said.  It came out in a whisper.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He tilted his head slightly.  A gesture of confusion.  She knew _that_ about him, but she hadn’t known that he was an archangel.

“Gabriel,” she said, and the Hebrew name felt foreign on her lips, though she had met a thousand mortals bearing it over the years.  “Messenger of God.”

His gaze dropped to the ground like she’d slapped him.  She had to take a breath so the sign of weakness wouldn’t anger her- he wouldn’t fight back.  He had never fought back, not if she was actually angry about something. 

“You could have trusted me,” she finally blurted out.

“’m sorry.”  It was barely a mumble.  His hands were trembling.  But to her surprise, he looked up, twisting his fingers into fists.  “But the boys…  We- we can hash this out later.  Please.” 

She swallowed, and for a moment she wanted to throw a fist into his face, to scream at him for being so _him_ \- she could still see him tied against the rock, useless and broken, begging with some nameless father- God.  He’d begged _God_ with a capital G, and where had it gotten them?  And when he’d been freed, what had he used his second chance for?  _Nothing_ \- he had shacked up with _Kali_ of all people and-

“ _Sigyn_ ,” he insisted.  He leaned forward, somehow pleading and commanding at the same time.  “I’m sorry.”

Her breath hitched at the sound of her name from his mouth.  The mouth of the Messenger-

His visage was blurring. No- she wouldn’t cry.  Not in front of him, not now.  She hadn’t cried in front of him since those hellish weeks of imprisonment, and she wouldn’t change that now-

“Sigyn,” he repeated, rushing forward.  His hands closed around her wrists- hesitantly, then more forcefully, drawing their hands up between them.  “Sigyn, I’m sorry,” he repeated, his tongue lingering on her name. 

He hadn’t said her name since-

Since-

She couldn’t remember. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, and she felt her body give way.  She sank into an embrace still familiar through a thousand years and a new vessel.  This time, though, it wasn’t the embrace of lovers, but of old friends.  They’d been through hell together.  They’d seen some of each other’s darkest moments.  Still, they returned, and now Sigyn let herself be held through the waves of sorrow and regret and sheer frustration.

“You should have told me,” she hissed, when she could speak without breaking her words.  “You _should_ have told me, Loki.  You _owed_ it to me.  I was your _wife_ \- I carried your _children_ \- you should have-”

“I know.”  His eyes were damp, but he didn’t make any move to wipe them.  His attention was fixed on her.  “But if it makes you feel better, I never told Thor either.  Or-”

Or Kali.  But neither of them mentioned her. 

She took a shivery breath and pushed him away, careful to not look at Castiel.  An outsider had seen her break down- it was embarrassing, to say the least. 

Swallowing hard, she rubbed the end of her cardigan down her face.  “Vali and Nari are this way,” she said, turning down the road.  And then she froze, looking back at him. 

Morning had broken.  Dew glittered on metal equipment and the surrounding park of grass and trees.  Golden light cast an inhuman glow over the angelic brothers, and if Sigyn focused, she could see the outlines of wings playing in the dawn sun, could see the echoes of the ancient cosmos in their eyes. 

She was of the Earth and these angels were of the stars.  This was her world, and they were her guests. 

And then Gabriel moved impatiently, fidgeting with something he’d pulled from his pocket- a Hershey wrapper.  The spell broke, and once again they were no more than another shattered marriage. 

She wrapped her cardigan tighter around her body and started back towards the house.  Gabriel followed.  His footsteps were heavier now than they’d once been.

 

_Inside_

_The campfire flickered from the center of a melted bowl of snow.  Vali held a mug of mead in his hands, sipping it slowly.  It warmed him against the winter night, a pleasant burn that made it difficult to focus on Thor and Loki’s hushed whispers.  They were speaking of a group of mountain giants who were encroaching on Aesir farms.  Vali wasn’t sure how he knew this.  He sipped the mead and looked out past the fire, into the forest._

_Shadows played about the trees.  They flicked up in time with the fire, playing in the night.  Vali watched them, from the circle of warmth beside the fire.   They twisted, sometimes formless, sometimes in the shape of animals- of wolves._

_One howled, and then there were truly wolves, trotting amidst the trees.  Their eyes glowed bright in the gloom, flickering reflections of campfire.  Or maybe they were fire, like their pelts were a disguise so nobody would know that fire demons were roaming the night._

_Vali needed to tell his father and Thor.  But between the fire and the mead he was warm and comfortable.  Moving seemed too much an effort- surely the fiery wolves would leave on their own.  What interest did they have in a few harmless gods in the woods?_

_He sipped the mead and choked- the pleasant warmth had turned into a burn like venom, tearing through his lips.  He spat and rubbed at his mouth, only to find that the venom he’d drunk was eating through his cheeks and tongue and teeth.  He clawed at his face, trying to clean it of the poison, and threw himself into the snow._

_Thor and Loki were gone.  Now there were only the demons- wolves dark as night with fire in their eyes.  Vali screamed through his broken face, but still the poison devoured him, spreading from his fingers up his arms, from his mouth to his eyes and down his throat to boil in his stomach._

_It was burning him away, and inside all he could feel was the fire, the anger, and the largest of the demons sat in front of him.  There was no face, but still he could sense a smile._

_He knew what he had to do._

_He turned towards Thor and Loki, baring his teeth._

 “Val!”

He slammed awake, gasping at the burning that still seemed to linger.  Nari knelt beside him, wide eyed.  “Do you feel it?”

“Feel what?” 

“Seriously, Val.”  Nari’s eyes were wide and urgent.  His hair was still messy from sleep.  “I need you to tell me if you sense him too.”

“Sense who?  What?”  He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the image of fiery wolves.  The dream shook him- the transformation had felt too familiar, too real, and the memory of what he was willing to do in that state… he didn’t want to think about it. 

Downstairs, the front door opened.  “Dad,” Vali breathed.

Nari sat back on his heels, taking a deep breath.  “I thought I was dreaming.”

Both boys burst up, fighting to get through the doorway and racing down the stairs, feet slamming the old wood and threatening to once and for all snap the boards. 

They froze at the bottom of the stairs, both fixated on the man who had stepped into the house behind Sigyn. 

Vali had seen Loki take on many different forms, but a whole new body was still a shock- he wondered what had happened to the old one.  And then he remembered what Castiel had said, about Loki actually being an angel, and he choked on a laugh.  Because the man in front of him, kind of short and definitely not majestic, was no angel.  He was just Loki. 

“I knew you were alive,” Nari said, jumping forward and breaking the spell as he threw his arms around Loki.  “Nobody can kill you for real.”

Loki’s breath hitched in a way that tugged at Vali’s heart and he looked down at Nari, then up at Vali.  “Oh my boys,” he whispered brokenly.  One of his hands pressed to Nari’s back- the other he held out to Vali.  It trembled. 

Sigyn moved in closer to touch Loki’s shoulder.  At the sight of his parents together, Vali slid down to sit on the bottom step, closing his eyes. 

He’d done that. 

They were touching, but there was a distance between them where they had once pressed their bodies together.  It was because of Vali, because his jaws had torn their family apart.  He couldn’t bear to look up at the tension on their faces, not even when he felt the air move as somebody knelt in front of him. 

“Oh Val,” Loki whispered, folding him into his arms.  Vali’s breath hitched- he could feel the roughness of his father’s cheek against his own, the damp of tears that could have belonged to either of them.  “It’s okay, kiddo.  I’ve got you now.”

Vali shivered violently, squeezing his eyes shut against the image of Nari’s belly ripped open, the screaming and wailing of his parents.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, pleading.  “I’m sorry-”

“Hush, kiddo, it wasn’t your fault.”  Loki’s voice was a different timbre than it had once been, but it was still the same tone.  “It’s okay.  We’re all okay.  Your brother’s okay and you’re okay and we’re all together.”

“I didn’t mean- I didn’t want…” 

They were rocking slightly, like he was a toddler instead of a prince of Asgard.  He choked on a sob, on a blood-drenched memory.  “Dad…” he moaned past the physical ache that cut into his lungs.  “Dad, I’m sorry-”

“No, Val, I’m sorry.”  Fingers in Vali’s hair, a slow, calming motion.  “I’m sorry, kiddo.  It was my fault.  I should have protected you.  Baldur’s death-”

“A dart that small shouldn’t have killed anybody,” Sigyn cut in, moving slightly above them on the stairs.  Her hand found Vali’s shoulder, a comforting weight.  “What happened was nobody’s fault except for Odin.  And Odin is _dead_.” 

Sigyn held out a hand, drawing Nari into the circle.  He joined them, squished between Loki and Sigyn and the wall, his leg pressing into Vali’s shoulder.  Vali’s breath caught again, and someone’s hand rubbed his shoulder- he wasn’t sure who.  He just buried his face into his father’s chest and sobbed until his sinuses were too clogged to breathe and his head pounded in time with his heart. 

 

_Outside_

Fenrir’s paws touched down on the asphalt outside Sigyn’s home.  He knew in an instant the boys were there.  Their mother’s presence shielded them somewhat, but he knew what to look for, could recognize the children in an instant. 

Invisible to anyone who may have looked outside, he padded from the road to the yard, peeking in a window at the little family huddled on the stairs.  The ideal nuclear family, with mom and dad and two kids- Fenrir’s lips curled back from his teeth and he moved away from the window.  It was a private moment. 

Fenrir’s parents had never been like that.  Though Hela, as oldest, was privy to more of Loki’s secrets, Fenrir wasn’t far behind her.  What Loki and Angrboda shared had probably started out as healthy, or at the very least, fun.  But by the time Fenrir was old enough to notice, it had morphed into a violent cycle of passion and hate.  It had been a relief when they’d permanently split and Loki had taken the siblings to Asgard. 

But Fenrir could already see, even at a young age, that the stable childhood was doing the babies good.  They were eager to please, ready to learn, and unafraid of the world. 

And Fenrir would be lying if he said he wasn’t the slightest bit jealous, until the violent bit at the very end. 

He walked down the road, the asphalt rough against the pads of his paws.  He supposed there was nowhere to go now, though his mind drifted back to Raphael.  Would she need help dealing with Michael?  Perhaps, but it wasn’t Fenrir’s place, nor did he want to make it his place. 

Raphael, with her dark eyes and somber words, was intriguing.  Michael though, judging by all he’d heard, was just a dick.  He had no time for dicks. 

Though, speaking of dicks, Lucifer’s son was probably still out west, and deserved an update on the quest to get Hela to pay attention to the mortal realm.  Fenrir’s muscles tensed, and then he pushed off into the space between the dimensions. 

He landed outside the Winchester bunker. 

Almost on top of Sleipnir. 

The horse shied back in surprise, then snorted at him.  “Were you satisfied that your brothers were alive?”

Fenrir’s ears lay back against his head.  “No thanks to you.  Loki’s off having his reunion now.  I hope you enjoyed your time as the baby of the family, because they took their spot back.”

Sleipnir’s eyes narrowed.  An ear twitched.  “You know I took no joy in their deaths-”

“You didn’t feel anything at all.”  Fenrir started towards the bunker, shifting into human form as he walked.  “What are you even doing here?”

Sleipnir followed him, shifting as well.  His eyes flicked to the side and back, so quick that anyone else would have missed it.  “I sensed a disturbance here.”

Fenrir raised an eyebrow.  “A disturbance?  Think it might be because this old place belongs to the two strongest humans alive right now?”

“Two of the-”

“Winchesters.”

“Oh.  I have heard of them.”

“Mmhmm.” 

They stood in silence for a moment.  Fenrir had no real wish to go up to the door.  To knock was to risk having to talk to Sam or Dean or the angel Castiel.  None of them were particularly friendly, and he didn’t want a repeat of their fight. 

“I’m sure you read my letter,” Fenrir said, breaking the silence.  “Hela is best for the boy.  She’ll understand their powers.”

“And we won’t?”  Sleipnir crossed his arms, eyes fixed on Fenrir.  “I don’t understand.  Why the interest in the boy?”

“He’s our cousin.”  Fenrir hesitated at the tree line, then sat on a fallen log.  “Lucifer’s bastard.  Figured those of us without Odin’s favor have to stick together.”

Sleipnir rolled his eyes, then took a seat beside Fenrir.  The branch groaned under the weight of two gods.  “You are aware that you never did anything to gain favor in the court?  You all treat me like a pariah, but I was doing my job.”  He ran his fingers through his beard, straightening it.  “And I did regret everything that happened with the boys.  I never thought… Odin sent me away for it.  On a wild goose chase, because he knew we would question the decision.  Thor and I… we returned too late.”

Fenrir reached down into the leaf mold, letting a spider crawl across his fingers.  “But still, you followed him,” he said, lifting the arachnid up and studying the spots on its back. 

“What else would you have expected me to do?”  Sleipnir looked over at the spider, wrinkling his nose.  “I was a child of the court.  Loki gave me up to Odin when I was barely old enough to walk.  Odin spent more time training me than Loki ever did.”  He grit his teeth, gaze unfocusing.  “And of course, it was never enough for either of them.  To Odin, I was Loki’s bastard.  And to Loki, I was a reminder of my idiot of a father.”

“The idiot of a father you’re currently partnering with?”  Fenrir turned his hand over, watching the spider swing from a little strand of web stuck to his palm.  “Your loyalties seem clear to me.”

“A useful idiot,” Sleipnir admitted.  He sighed, running a hand over his beard again.  “I love Asgard, Fenrir.  I didn’t grow up in the wastes of Jotunheim like you.  I grew up in a city of thousands of Aesir and Vanir.  My lullabies were the different languages people spoke outside my windows.  My playground was the city street, and my playmates were Asgardian children.  We would harass the merchants and sneak palace food to the street kids and explore all the secret places and dance and drink at every festival.  And we were never in danger because the walls kept out the giants.  The walls that my father and Loki built together.” 

Fenrir swung the spider towards Sleipnir.  “To be fair, Loki did trick your dad into making those.”

Sleipnir batted the arachnid away.  The web broke and it flew to land on a leaf, where it scuttled away.  “The point is, I love my city and my people.  I don’t care if I don’t belong with them by blood.  I will fight for them until my last breath, whether they want me to or not.”  He grit his teeth.  “But now they know.  Everybody knows.”

“Knows…?”  Fenrir raised an eyebrow. 

“That we’re _archangels_.”  He spat the word.  “We don’t belong there.  I don’t belong there.  My people don’t want me.  But they like the giant who built their glorious walls, so if I have to use him to keep their favor, then dammit, of course I will.” 

“So basically, Gabe’s bad rep is ruining everyone’s livelihood.”  Fenrir rolled his eyes, leaning back until he cracked his spine.  “So you’re playing the slow game?  Taking over Asgard one scumbag at a time?”

“I believe I am more qualified than most.”  Sleipnir snorted.  “More qualified than Thor, at least.  The god is nothing more than muscle frantically trying to hold the economy together.  He’s going to threaten the dark elves.  But the truth is, Svartalfheim is failing.  They need stronger leadership and an economic boost- I’m going to put Asgardian gold towards their education system.  Get dark elves off the streets, running the forges again, bring the prices back down…”  He dug his fingers into the bark on the log.  “All Thor will do is threaten their leader.  It will achieve nothing.  At best, we will slip into a depression that spans all nine realms.  At worst, war.” 

Fenrir studied him a moment.  “You know that a few school programs won’t change anything.”

Sleipnir glanced over.  “Not immediately.  But Svartalfheim was in decline even when Odin was on the throne.  It will take time, but I believe I can fix things.  They just need-”

“A message,” Fenrir finished with a snort.

Sleipnir’s eyes narrowed.  “What?”

Fenrir stood up, brushing leaf mold and bits of bark from his pants.  “Isn’t that Loki’s old archangel job?  Go into places, tell them how to change, make it better?  Just saying.  All your grand plans sound a little suspiciously like something Dad would do.”

“I’m suggesting educational changes and job development.  Not sending them a messiah.”  He shook his head.  “Loki and I are nothing alike.”

“No, but you and Gabriel might be.”  Fenrir smirked, crossing his arms.  “Real-life Jesus wasn’t just a Messiah.  He was suggesting an overthrow of the Roman order.  What are you doing here?”

“Not debating Christian history with you, preferably.”  Sleipnir stood as well.  “If it means that much to you, I’ll take the boy down to Hela myself.  But for the record, the only time I want to interact with the Christians is when I’m sacking a monastery.  Understand?”

“You know, there’s an island in Greece, I think, that’s all old timey Catholic monasteries.”  Fenrir raised an eyebrow, arms still crossed.

Sleipnir tilted his head.  “Then when I need to blow off steam, you will know where to find me.”

Fenrir clapped his shoulder.  “Don’t lose my Nephilim,” he said, and vanished. 

Sleipnir snorted at the smell of ozone and forest and dog lingering in the spot that Fenrir had been, and then started down towards the door of the bunker.  He was only helping with Fenrir’s pet project because he was conveniently heading in the same direction.  Otherwise, he would have steered away from the son of Satan. 

 

_In the heckin middle of nowhere in that sweet cabin ive described a couple times now_

“Drink this.”  Raphael knelt on the ground besides Michael, holding a cup with a straw to his mouth.  “It’s okay, brother.  It will calm you.” 

Michael’s arms were wrapped tightly around his legs, but he leaned against the chair.  Exhaustion showed in every line on his youthful vessel.  Raphael hoped this would open him to listening to her.  “It will calm your nerves,” she said, touching the straw to his lips.  “Just a sip, brother.” 

There was nothing magic about the drink.  It was simply chamomile tea.  She didn’t dare use any healing grace on him and scare him off. 

His lips parted.  Obediently, like a child, he took the smallest sip of the lukewarm tea.  Then his face contorted at the bitterness.  He turned and hid himself in the upholstery of the chair. 

Raphael sighed.  Slowly, she got up and returned to the kitchen to place the tea in the microwave.  For the minute that it hummed, she sank into one of the kitchen chairs, rubbing at her temples.

Michael had never been like this.  He’d always been the strongest of the archangels.  Even long ago, when Raphael had been mourning the losses of Gabriel and Lucifer, he had remained a rock amidst Heaven.  Solid, always ready to fight in Heaven’s defense, strong even when no guidance came from their father… And the Cage had broken him. 

How the Cage hadn’t broken Lucifer, Raphael had no idea. 

It would have broken her. 

Her breath hitched at the thought.  What would the Cage have shown her?  Her brothers, wings torn off and eyes bleeding from their sockets?  God, abandoning her?  Her own face, smiling gently as she screwed a needle into her own skull? 

Lobotomies, Fenrir had laughed. 

It was a crude word, for a crude, cruel procedure.  Humans had done it to each other, mashing cerebrum until the patient forgot the most basic of skills.  That wasn’t what Raphael had done.  No, she had been trying to help, trying to numb the pain of war and loss and suffering.  Grace was more complicated than neurons.  Grace required gentle manipulations to mold it into something less painful. 

They reported memory losses, some of the seraphs.  And then they would search for those memories, plead with other angels to show them the images that had been lost.  They would see themselves in that war against Lucifer.  They would see themselves smiting down their nest-mates, the soldiers they had grown up with.  And they would deny it and beg for the memory of a memory to be destroyed.  And the cycle would begin again…

Raphael had given them those tools. 

The microwave beeped, and she jumped, hastily wiping her hands across her eyes.  Sitting still like that was dangerous; it let her remember. 

She took the tea from the microwave, realizing that she could have used her grace to heat the fluid.  It didn’t matter now.  Maybe it was better to avoid her grace altogether. 

Gabriel had left honey in one of the cabinets, tightly sealed so no bugs would get to the inside.  Raphael reached up for it, her fingers closing around the glass- the outside was sticky.  Of course Gabriel had left a mess of sugar in his old vacation home.  He loved sugar, had loved it even as a fledgling. 

She set the jar next to the mug of tea and delicately licked the tips of her fingers.  She could barely taste the sweet behind the overwhelming carbon rings and acrid tingling of hydrogens.  Oxygen bridges caught on her tongue like fire, and proteins echoed the lightning and volcanoes of creation itself.  Under it all was the slightest catch of saliva and grace- Gabriel had probably licked a spoon off and then used it again without washing it. 

How did he enjoy that?  And yet, even as a fledgling they had caught him with berry-stained fingers or fruit fibers in his teeth or honey gluing feathers together. 

Raphael took a spoonful of the honey and stirred it into Michael’s tea.  Maybe it would calm him, or maybe the memory of Gabriel would throw him over the edge again.  Then, trying not to think, she carried it back into the living room.  “Here, Michael, try it now.”  She lowered herself down to sit beside him.  “It’s hot now.  Be careful.  Hopefully it will taste better.”

He looked over at her, eyes narrowed in suspicion.  Raphael held up the mug, then took a sip herself to show him that it was safe.  The atoms of warm liquid vibrated so that the electrons seemed to bounce against atoms of her tongue.  Then, very slowly, she held it to him. 

He took it.  His fingers closed around the mug, and he brought it to his own lips, taking a sip and closing his eyes.  “Sweet,” he murmured, holding his nose close and breathing in the steam. 

Raphael froze in shock at the speech.  “You can taste it?”

He didn’t respond, and rather tightened his position so that his body seemed to be wrapped around the epicenter of the warm cup.  Raphael watched to make sure that he wouldn’t drop it and burn himself, then got up to get a blanket. 

He hadn’t moved when she got back, though a bit more of the tea was missing.  Moving carefully, as to not startle him, Raphael began to drape the blanket around his shoulders.  His eyes followed her movements as he held onto the mug.  It was trickier getting the blanket around his exposed wings, but even rumpled as it was, it would warm his shoulders. 

Then, fearing that too much stimulation would send Michael fleeing, Raphael retreated to the couch.  As soon as she sat down, a heavy warmth appeared on her lap.  The cat rumbled like Raphael had sat down specifically to provide a spot. 

Raphael reached out to run her fingers through the fur.  A pity it wasn’t Michael’s feathers, but the cat enjoyed it.  Her entire body was vibrating with purrs. 

Michael watched them. 

Raphael picked up a book- nothing more than an old mystery left behind by one of the previous occupants.  It wasn’t a particularly good book, but the plot was thick with drama, and it distracted her from her own problems. 

A shadow fell over her, and the couch dipped down beside her. 

She didn’t look over, not wanting to scare Michael away.  Instead, she turned back to the beginning of the book (only a few pages- she had just picked it up), and began to read out loud.

_Abigail Wayland had not even made it from her front porch to her car when she stumbled over the dead body._

She hesitated, feeling ridiculous, then continued. 

_It was her neighbor, laying face down in the lawn.  The gardening fork stuck out of her back like somebody had stuck it there after a hard day’s toil.  Each splatter of blood was like a rose petal sprinkled down by the angels in memory of the loving wife and mother._

_Abigail was the only one who’d known how much of a bitch Patricia was._

This time, Raphael looked up.  Maybe an over-the-top gruesome murder-mystery was not the best thing to draw Michael back into the world of the living. 

But he was engaged, for the first time, his eyes fixed on her.

Of course, if there was one thing Michael had enjoyed, it was carnage.  Raphael looked back down at the book, and continued to read. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bare minimum of editing? Check. Writing the last chunk instead of doing homework? Check. 
> 
> Ya girl's clinical uniform is the same scrubs and lab coat that Gabe wears in the TV episode when they're spoofing Grey's Anatomy and none of my fellow students have ever watched spn so I'm suffering in silence. 
> 
> And I have the end of this heckin trash heap of a fanfic vaguely mapped out. It's just a matter of banging out the words and by the end of classes or 6 hour study seshes my brain is liquefactive necrosis. so it's getting done, just very slowly.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wanna hear a joke?
> 
> What kind of condoms does Loki use?  
> Trojan
> 
> Get it, cause Troy's gates kept out everything except for a giant horse and same with loki I'm really funny. Why am I going into healthcare? Surely I should go back in time and be a roman comedian. I was born in the wrong century. Also i like didn't edit this chapter sorry please love me anyways

_The bunker_

Nobody ever knocked on the door.  When Dean heard it, he assumed it was Castiel- one of the wards must have slipped up, locking the angel outside.  It would be a quick fix if Castiel told him which one it was.  Dean jumped up from the table, hastening to the door to pull it open. 

It was not Castiel.  It was a tall man (though not as tall as Sam) with striking platinum hair and a darker beard.  With the black V-neck and dark jeans, he looked like a total douchebag.  Dean instantly didn’t like him. 

“Who the hell are you?” he asked without any formality, moving the corner of his flannel aside so the stranger could see the shape of a revolver shoved into his waistband (he may have been lazing around the bunker, but habits died hard). 

“Dean Winchester,” the stranger said, tilting his head at the slightest angle.  “I have heard of you.  One of the most powerful humans alive, along with your brother.”

“So you know I can kick your-”

“You are acquainted with Fenrir?  He is my brother.”

Dean stopped short.  “What the hell.  Listen, we didn’t kill the guy.  It was all some weird cult shit-  Oh, hold up- that means you’re one of Gabe’s kids.”  He stared at the stranger for a minute, then groaned.  “Look, Gabe went off to see a couple more of your siblings.  I dunno where.  So if you wanna talk, I think Sam has his number.”

The stranger watched Dean talk with a bemused expression that immediately set the hunter on edge.  “I am not here for… Gabriel.”  The name sounded awkward when he said it, though he didn’t have an accent on anything else.  “I am here for the boy Jack, actually.  To bring him to Hela.”  He paused.  “My name is Sleipnir.”

Dean stared at him for a minute, then looked over his shoulder.  “Sam!”  He called.  “I think this sounds like something for you to handle.  Hey, Sammy!”

“I’m coming.”  Sam appeared from the direction of the library.  There were dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t gotten much sleep.  His shoulders were tense, hunched like they only got when he was stressed.  Dean hoped Gabriel hadn’t broken his heart already.  If the archangel had hurt Sam, then Dean would put him back in the Empty. 

“Meet Sleipnir,” Dean said, gesturing at the god standing on their doorstep.  “He’s asking about Jack.”

Sam’s eyes went wide.  “Sleipnir- oh my god.  Um… hi- come in.” 

Dean stepped aside so Sleipnir had room, though he fingered the wood grip of his revolver.  Gabriel was mostly on their side, but still a wildcard.  But Gabriel’s immortal kids?  There was no telling what side they were on. 

“Your wards are strong.”  Sleipnir stepped down the stairs gracefully, with none of Gabriel’s extra flair.  “My father could not ascertain what was here when he sensed a blank spot.  I assumed it was nothing, but this is more interesting.”

“Interesting how?” Dean asked, because Sam still looked too star struck to catch the douchebag vibe that was practically oozing off the guy. 

Sleipnir looked up, inclining his head slightly.  “Merely as a curiosity.  Don’t worry, Winchester.  I have no stake in Midgard.  Nor do I plan on giving away your position.” 

“Wait, wait- your father?”  Sam’s brow furrowed.  “The giant-”

Sleipnir heaved a sigh.  “I really am not in the mood for a conversation about my parentage right now.”

“Sorry, yeah, not my business.”  Sam held up his hands, blushing bright red.  Dean snorted, and then shrugged when both looked up at him. 

“Maybe better not to talk about exes, Sammy,” he said, walking down the stairs and leaning with his back against the table. 

Sam coughed and looked away, but it was impossible to hide his embarrassment.  Sleipnir made a noise that sounded like exasperation.  “Of course.”

“Of course what?” Dean asked, and instantly regretted it. 

“Of course Loki has already managed to find a new lover.”  Sleipnir pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“We’re not-” Sam tried, but was interrupted. 

“I don’t want details.”  Sleipnir held up a hand.  “Please, for my sanity, don’t give me details.  I am here for the son of Lucifer.  Not Loki’s latest conquest.”

“Okay, one,” Dean crossed his arms.  “Don’t call my little brother a conquest, got it?”  He narrowed his eyes, making sure that Sleipnir knew he meant business.  “And two, you can’t just come in here and demand to take Jack.  The kid’s with us-”

“Take me where?” 

All three turned to the doorway.  If anything, Jack looked more tired than Sam.  For the first time in his short life, there were dark circles under his eyes and he was dragging his feet.  “You’re an archangel too,” he said, tilting his head when he saw Sleipnir. 

Sleipnir flinched at the word, so obviously that Dean looked over to see if Sam had noticed.  Sure enough, Sam, blush fading, gave Dean a microscopic shrug. 

“Yes,” he said through his teeth.  “Sleipnir Lokison.  I am on a mission to Helheim.  If you wish to meet with my sister Hela, you may join.  If not, then I cannot guarantee when you will next be in touch with her.” 

“Jack, you don’t-” Sam started, but once again he was interrupted. 

“I’ll go.”  Jack stepped forward, straightening to his full height. 

“What?”  Sam strode across the room to clasp Jack’s shoulder.  “Hey, you don’t have to just up and go like that.  You don’t know-”

“I know Gabriel.”  Jack looked up at Sam.  Even from across the room, Dean could see that the kid had already made up his mind.  “These are my cousins, Sam.  They can show me how to use my powers for good.” 

“For good?”  Sam reached down to grab Jack’s hand.  “You’re already good, Jack.  I told you- it’s not about who your father was-”

“I killed those demons.”  Jack jerked his hand away.  “There were still people inside them.  I killed them.”

Dean and Sleipnir exchanged a look- this was a private conversation between Sam and Jack, and the two of them just happened to be in the same room.  Then Dean realized he’d just felt slight comradery with the douchebag with the black V-neck and he looked away. 

“You didn’t have a choice,” Sam said softly, letting his hand drop limply to his side.  “We were in the middle of the fight, and you acted on instinct.  That’s okay-”

“It’s _not._ ”  Jack grit his teeth and turned away from Sam.  “I talked to Gabriel- he said I didn’t have to kill.  And he’s killed- he’s killed so many people that it’s like nothing to him!  And my father-” He cut himself off.

Sam gently grabbed his shoulder again, turning him around.  “You’re not your father, Jack.  And you’re not Gabe either.  The archangels-”

“I don’t want to be like them.”  Jack hissed it with surprising vehemence.  “I don’t want to kill anybody.  I want to be the good guy.”

“And you need to learn about your powers to achieve that.”  Sleipnir stepped forward, breaking into the conversation.  “Nobody wants to be like the archangels.  They’re petty remnants of the beginning of the world-”

“Gabe isn’t petty.” 

Dean rolled his eyes when Sam interrupted, but he wasn’t surprised. 

Sleipnir paused, mouth half open, and looked over at Sam.  He was silent for a long moment.  “ _Gabriel_ ,” he said, enunciating the name, “is an ancient being with a skewed sense of humor, very few morals, and a fickle attitude.  He tricked my father, like so many other poor idiots.  To this day, my father pines for him.  Don’t make that mistake.”

Sam opened and closed his mouth, then looked away.

“We know Gabe,” Dean said, stepping in.   “He’s definitely a petty dude, but he came through for us in the end.  I dunno what family issues you guys have going on, but don’t take it out on Sam.  Got it?”

Sleipnir looked at Dean, appraising, but Dean didn’t back down.  It was Sleipnir who turned his gaze away.  “I am merely telling you what I’ve seen,” he said.  “And I am agreeing with the boy- the archangels are not good role models.  And I am not offering to teach him myself.  Hela is the eldest and the strongest.  She can teach him to control his strength.”

“I’m going.”  Jack pushed past Sam to stand beside Sleipnir.  “They’re my cousins.  I trust them.  And I don’t want to kill anybody.  If I can learn how to use my grace correctly, then maybe I can... I don’t know, pull the demons out of their vessels or something.”

Dean cringed at the memory of Sam doing just that.  Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

“I have to try,” Jack insisted.  “Gabe said Hela would help me.  And I trust Gabe.  Don’t you?”  He fixed his gaze on Sam, pleading. 

“I think he made up his mind, dude,” Dean murmured. 

Sam’s jaw was tensed, but he nodded.  “You call me every day, got it?  I don’t care if there’s no cell service down in the underworld- I know you can use your grace to talk to me.  I’ve felt you do it.”

When Jack realized he was being given permission, a smile broke out across his face.  “Thank you,” he said.  “I promise.  I’ll check in with you.  However I can.”

“Gather your belongings,” Sleipnir said.  “I am already running late.”

Jack nodded hastily, and darted off. 

Sam glanced at Dean, then looked up at Sleipnir.  “Listen,” he said, checking the hall to make sure Jack wasn’t eavesdropping again.  “Whatever happened between Gabe and your dad…” He hesitated.  “I’m sure if you guys all talked about it… Gabe isn’t a bad guy.  Sometimes he gets his morals mixed up, but he’s not just another petty archangel.  He actually cares about the world.”

“Perhaps,” Sleipnir said simply.  “And perhaps he cares more about getting laid by a tall, powerful warrior.  You don’t know Loki like I do.  You never will.  There is a reason they call him Lie Smith.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed, and Dean was very glad that he wasn’t Sleipnir. 

“If Gabriel lied to you, it was because he was afraid,” Sam said, drawing himself to his full height.  “That’s the only reason he’s ever lied to anyone.  So maybe, instead of preaching to me, you should figure out what you did to make your parent hide the truth from you.”

Sleipnir didn’t have a chance to respond before Jack reappeared, backpack slung over his shoulder.  “I have my laptop, clothes, charger, phone, phone charger…”

“Toothbrush?” Sam asked, forcing himself to relax when he turned back to Jack.  “Toothpaste?  Soap?”

“Yeah, Sam.”  Jack rolled his eyes, shrugging his bag higher on his shoulder.  “I still haven’t unpacked from the last case.  You guys should be more worried about remembering toothpaste for yourselves.  Remember the vampire case last month?”

“Okay, listen, you stupid kid.”  Dean crossed his arms.  “You do not pass up a free sushi hour-”

“Your breath killed the vampire,” Jack said bluntly. 

Dean rolled his eyes.  “It did not.  He was allergic to garlic.”

“There’s not supposed to be garlic in sushi, Dean,” Sam said slowly.  “This wasn’t another gas station, right?”

“Are you serious?” Sleipnir interrupted.  “You morons are the heroes of this generation?”

All three looked over at him.  He looked douchier than ever, shaking his head in disapproval.  “I need to be going.  Jack, if you are coming, we need to leave now.”

Jack nodded, straightening up.  “I’m ready.”

Sam’s jaw tightened.  “Every day, Jack.  I don’t care how I get the message, but I expect it.  Got it?”

Jack moved across the room to stand beside Sleipnir, then nodded sagely towards Sam.  “I will.  I promise.”

Both of them turned to climb the stairs.  Sam’s face was calm but his hands were trembling.  Jack hadn’t been there for that long, in the grand scheme of things, but already Sam was attached.  Dean set a hand on Sam’s shoulder.  “You’re an empty nester now, dude.”

“Shut up,” Sam muttered, wincing when the door shut behind the two half-archangels.  “I don’t know if we should trust him.”

“He’s about as trustworthy as Gabe,” Dean said, shrugging.  “And you trust him.”

“You don’t.”

“I don’t trust anyone.” 

“You trust Cas.”

Dean blinked.  “That’s different.”

“How?”

Dean paused.  “The kid will be back soon.  It’ll be good for him to get some actual archangel training.”

 “Yeah,” Sam said, turning away from the door.  “I know.”

 

_New York_

Pancake batter sizzled on the stove.  Gabriel cooked them one-handed- his other arm was draped around Nari’s shoulders as the boy leaned against him.  The whole thing felt surreal- it was a mockery of the last moment they’d spent together, where a crackling fire was replaced with a stove and bread, honey, and home-raised ham had been replaced with Aldi’s pancake mix and chocolate chips.  They’d been laughing, that last day.  Gabriel couldn’t remember what the joke had been, but he remembered their laughter.  It probably hadn’t even been that funny.  It was probably just the delivery.

Nari’s unformed grace was pressed against Gabriel’s, the boy’s entire being unwilling to be separated again.  His wings- wings that he himself wasn’t aware of- were still covered in fledgling fluff. 

But he had seen more than a fledgling deserved, and Gabriel held him all the tighter. 

“So how much have you guys seen of the modern world?” he asked, keeping his voice light.  “How do you like the running water?  Not having sewers just in the streets anymore, that’s my favorite.”

“It’s too loud,” Vali muttered.  He sat at the table, cross-legged on the chair.  One of Sigyn’s cats was napping on his lap.  “Everything is too loud.  Even when it’s silent, it’s loud.”

Sigyn, across the table from him, gave Gabriel a pleading look.  _I can’t shield them like you can_.

The feeling of her voice in his mind was as familiar as Raphael’s.  Gabriel handed the spatula to Nari so he could flip the pancake.  _It is louder now.  More humans, more radios, more energy._

_Can you help him, Loki?  I can’t… I don’t know how.  I would have had to find another angel, but most of them are dead or fallen._

_I can help him with the energy itself.  But everything else…_ His response was cut off by guilt so strong that his stomach clenched.  He blocked himself from Sigyn so she wouldn’t feel it, taking a deep breath.  His grace ached, in grief and guilt and a sudden longing for Sam- he shouldn’t be thinking about Sam right now.  He had bigger worries than Sam, and yet Sam was like a balm against the memories. 

 _Sigyn is right there, idiot_ , he thought angrily at himself, and yet Sigyn was little more to him than a reminder of his failure.  And yet she stood there, watching him.  Judging him?  He had gotten her children killed, after all-

“I’ll be back,” he choked, and he felt the eyes on him as he fled, practically throwing himself out the front door.  Heart pounding, he clenched his fists, struggling to draw air into his lungs.  The boys needed him, and he was outside having a nervous breakdown-

Pathetic.  He was pathetic. 

His breath hitched and he sank to his knees, moving behind the trees where no neighbor would look out their windows to see him.  It was his fault.  Everything was his fault- the haunted look in Vali’s eyes followed him outside, mocking him.  He was the reason for that.  They needed someone better than him; deserved someone better than him, and-

And his phone buzzed against his hip. 

Hands shaking, he drew it from his pocket. 

It was Sam. 

He stared at the screen for a long moment.  It vibrated against his hands, drawing from his head, back into the real world.  His heart rate slowly fell. 

And then it stopped.  _One missed call_ , the notification informed him. 

Sam was thinking about him. 

The screen blinked out, and a second later blinked back on.  _One new voicemail_ , a new notification said.

Gabriel licked his lips and opened it, holding it up to his ear. 

 _Hey, Gabe.  Gabriel.  Um… I dunno, I didn’t want to pray and interrupt your family reunion, or overstep or anything.  I just had to tell you that Sleipnir showed up.  Said Fenrir sent him.  And… he took Jack.  I mean, Jack chose to go, but… they’re going to see Hela.  I didn’t know if… I just have a bad feeling about this whole thing.  Can you call me back when you can?_ A long pause.  _And if it means anything, I’ve been looking at love curses.  And I’ve… uh… been under them before.  And the connection might be something weird, but my, umm… feelings are definitely me.  So, um, you don’t gotta feel like… I dunno,  Shouldn’t have said anything over a message.  No pressure.  Just… call me back.  Please._

Gabriel listened to it once, twice, three times.  The meanings of the words weren’t important, but Sam’s voice gave him an anchor, and he tried to slow his breathing before full panic took hold.  He couldn’t afford to lose it right now.  His family needed him. 

“Loki?”

He jerked around, standing up at the same time.  “Sigyn- sorry, I-”

“You’re not the only one feeling it.”  She swallowed, wrapping her cardigan tighter around herself.  This time, they didn’t embrace, separated by the chilly morning air.  “I’m as much to blame as you, and Odin is more to blame than both of us.”

Gabriel just bit his lip, phone heavy in his hand. 

“But they’re back, so…” she shrugged. 

“Yeah, I know.  I just… needed a second.”  Gabriel could taste blood when he talked- he didn’t realize he’d bit his lip so hard.  He wondered if he should tell her about Sam.  He wondered if he wasn’t thinking about Sam to avoid his own emotions.  Wind tangled about his hair.  It smelled like snow. 

“Come back inside,” Sigyn said after a moment.  “You can’t blame yourself, Loki.  You’re punishing yourself more than-”

“It’s not just them,” he said under his breath, and then shut up.

Sigyn frowned.  “What?”

He shook his head.  “It’s nothing-”

“It’s not nothing.”  Sigyn stood still, watching him.  “What is it?”

Gabriel fell silent, shaking his head.  “Too long a story… just… drop it.  Let’s go back inside.”  He started walking past her, towards the door.  Her eyes followed him.

“Your brothers?” she hazarded.

He flinched, and then he felt the weight of her hand on his shoulder.  She didn’t say anything though, and simply walked back inside after him. 

Nari had taken over the pancakes.  Several were already on the done plate.  The first few were sloppy, but there was a clear gradient where Nari had picked up the skill in the short time that Gabriel had been outside.  He was suspiciously eyeing the one in the pan now- a moment later he flipped it, quick and smooth. 

It was perfectly baked on one side.  Why wouldn’t it be?  There was no human imperfection there, but rather the combined strength of a god and an angel. 

“Looking good, kiddo,” he said, his voice falling into an easy drawl that belied his inner turmoil.  He wasn’t sure where Sigyn kept her dishes, so he made his best guess, opening and closing cabinets until he found a pack of paper plates.  “Val, can you grab the syrup from the fridge?”

From the table, Vali raised an eyebrow- Gabriel’s heart soared at the tiny look of a child’s defiance.  “I can’t, Dad.  Cat.” 

Like it could understand, the dozing Maine Coon on his lap opened one green eye to give Gabriel a look of derision. 

“That’s Sappho,” Sigyn said, a little apologetically.  “Catullus is probably sleeping upstairs.”

 Gabriel made a face at the cat and moved to get the syrup himself.  “Always with the cats, aren’t you?”

“I let you have your dogs,” Sigyn snarked back.  It didn’t have quite the same bite that it used to have, but it was an echo of a happier time.  “I’m surprised there isn’t one now.”

“Well, there was until I died.”  Gabriel paused.  Everything had been happening so quickly that he hadn’t even thought of the little terrier.  How long had he been back?  Three days?  Four?  And in that time he’d nearly frozen, been tortured, kissed a human, found out his boys were back…

For the first time since he’d been back, he realized that he was starving.  Not just hungry.  Starving. 

“How about we go find that dog after breakfast?” he suggested, striding across the kitchen.  He didn’t want to sit there and think anymore- he needed to move.  “I’m sure the thing absorbed enough of my power that he’s still alive…  Usually the lady next door would watch him for me.” 

“Your dogs did live a ridiculously long time,” Sigyn said, narrowing her eyes. 

Gabriel shrugged.  “I don’t like it when they die.  C’mon.  I’m hungry.”  He started putting plates together.  “How many do you want, Val?”

“I’m not hungry.”  From the table, he just shrugged. 

Gabriel looked over at him, tilting his head.  Did he want to push it?  No, he didn’t want to scare the kid away, or push him quicker than he could respond.  But still, he put one of the pancakes on the plate and doused it with syrup.  It would be there if he wanted to nibble, and if he just cut it up and pushed it around, Gabriel wouldn’t say anything. 

He set the plate in front of Vali, then moved to pour him a glass of milk as well.  “Really disappointed that you don’t have chocolate milk here,” he commented to Sigyn as he surveyed her fridge.  “Nari?  Did I teach you transfiguration yet?”  He turned towards the table, where the blond had set down with his plate.  (He was pleased to note that when the attention wasn’t on him, Vali was actually eating.  He said nothing about it). 

“Little things,” Nari replied.  He got a bit of chocolate chip in his mouth and his eyes went wide.  “Wow.  Wait, you said this was made of cocoa, right?  That spicy drink?”

“Mmhmm.”  Gabriel grinned and started pouring cups of plain milk (doing a trick even as small as making plain milk into chocolate sounded exhausting).  “Humans made it sweet.  Good little humans.  I love them.”

Vali had been going around the chocolate chips in his pancake.  When he saw that Nari enjoyed them, he tried them himself, licking the edge once before making a small _oh_ noise.  Gabriel set the glasses of milk in front of them both, tousled Vali’s hair, then moved to make his own plate.

“We went out to the gun range yesterday,” Sigyn said, squeezing between the two with her breakfast.  “Val’s a natural, of course.” 

“I still like hand to hand better,” Vali said quickly.  His fingers were still stroking through the cat’s fur.  “What’s the point of learning to fight now if it’s all from a distance?”

Gabriel and Sigyn exchanged looks again.  “I wouldn’t say it’s all from a distance,” Sigyn said into her pancakes.  “The formal Midgardian wars now, maybe, but there are more instances of classical fighting than new technology.”

“You can always punch someone in the face,” Gabriel said, gesturing with his fork.  “More honor in that.  Or, you know, get stabbed in the gut.”  He grimaced.  “I don’t recommend that, so how about you guys don’t get into any fights anytime soon.  Who wants to find my dog instead?”

“I do,” Nari said quickly.  He was about to spring out of his chair, but Gabriel waved a hand at him to sit.  He wanted breakfast first.  And the best part about being exes was that Sigyn couldn’t nag him to eat a vegetable anymore. 

Her lips thinned when he got up for seconds, but she said nothing.  He grinned at her and brought over the bag of leftover chocolate chips as well, though he only got a handful for himself before Nari stole it.  Before the boy took any for himself, he reached over and dropped a handful on Vali’s plate. 

 

_The Bunker_

Dean was making eggs when he heard little footsteps behind him.  He turned to find Luke standing in the kitchen doorway, looking up at him with big eyes, clearly betrayed at waking up alone.  “Hey kid,” Dean said, gesturing at him to come into the kitchen.  “You gonna talk today?”

Luke didn’t dignify the question with a response, but did walk in and sit on one of the chairs, watching closely.  Dean waited a second, then gestured at the stove.  “I’m making eggs.  You like them?”

He hesitated, squinting a little.  Then he nodded. 

“You do like eggs?  Awesome.”  Dean nodded at the pan.  “These are for Sam.  Boring and healthy.  I’ll make yours next.  Do you like cheese?”

Luke nodded again, a little smile on his face.  At least he knew what food was.  Someone must have cooked for him at some point.  “Great,” Dean said, turning back to the stove.  “Do you want to help cook?  Pull up a chair.  I’ll show you how to make the perfect scrambled eggs.”

Dean didn’t think he would get a response from that, but then he heard the scraping of chair legs on the floor.  Sure enough, a moment later, the kid stood beside him, looking between him and the pan, eager to help. 

“Alright,” Dean said, and handed him the spatula.  “These are Sam’s, so it’s okay if you mess up.”  He laughed at his own joke.  “Scrape the spatula against the bottom of the pan to get the cooked egg up.”

Luke narrowed his eyes in concentration and tried.  The whole pan started to move, but Dean grabbed the insulated handle before Luke could push it off the heat.  “Nice!” he said, when Luke had successfully made a pass with the spatula.  “Make sure you get the sides too.  Eggs cook super fast.”

Luke nodded and tried again, mixing the eggs more than actually scrambling them.  Dean didn’t try to correct him too hard.  It was nice actually sharing the cooking with someone.  Sam never had much of an interest, and Castiel obviously didn’t-

Speaking of Castiel-

Dean turned around at the light rustle of a trench coat.  “Hey Cas,” he said, nodding down at Luke.  “I put Gabe’s grandkid to work.  He likes eggs.”

Luke touched Dean’s elbow quizzically.  Dean inspected the pan.  “They’re almost done,” he agreed.  “Just leave them there for another minute to make sure they’re cooked through.  Cas, grab a plate for me, wouldja?”

Castiel obeyed, setting it on the counter next to Dean.  “Scoop those eggs up onto the plate,” Dean told Luke, then clapped his shoulder when the job was done.  “Nice!  Want to go bring them to Sam?  He’s in the library.  Then you can help me make yours.” 

Luke nodded and climbed down from the chair, then very carefully took the plate from Dean and walked off. 

“I like him,” Dean decided.  “I’m gonna teach him to make mac and cheese for lunch.”

Castiel ignored the menu.  “Where’s Jack?”

As though Dean could have forgotten the events earlier that morning.  “One of Gabe’s kids came to pick him up,” he said, jaw tensing at the thought of Castiel’s reaction.  “They’re gonna give him some archangel lessons.  Teach him what’s up.”

Castiel blinked.  “What.”

“Yeah…” Dean gestured at the stove.  “Do you want eggs?  Toast?”

“Jack went with the pagans to learn about his grace?”

Dean winced.  “I mean, dude, they’re technically your nephews.  They’re freaky and I don’t trust them, but Jack and Sam do, so…”

Castiel just stared at Dean.  “You just let him go?”

“I mean, yeah, he kinda had his mind made up.”  Dean picked up the pan to scrape the last pieces of egg off.  “It’s not permanent.  It’s just a quick trip.  I think.  Sorry, man.  We should have waited until you got back, but the douchebag horse guy was rushing us.”

Castiel looked a little shell shocked, like he’d walked into his biggest surprise.  “The pagans are not to be trusted.”

Dean set the pan back down on the stove.  “Dude, he’s not gonna be gone long.  And he’s got his phone on him.  It’s just Gabe’s kids-”

“They’re heathens, Dean.”  His voice was low and threatening, but he sat down on one of the chairs almost in defeat.  “I should have been there earlier for him.  He wouldn’t be-”

Dean frowned at the sudden resignation.  “What?  Cas, this isn’t a reflection on you.  We’re all gonna miss him.  I mean, Sam’s really beat up about it, but Jack’ll be back soon.  What’s eating you?”

Castiel remained silent. 

Dean pulled up a chair.  “C’mon.  Talk to me.” 

“It isn’t-”

“Obviously it is.”  Dean leaned forward, hands clasped together, and waited. 

A few silent moments later, he reached out to clasp Castiel’s shoulder.  “Fine.  If you don’t want to talk-”

“Gabriel left too.”

Dean nodded and waited. 

Castiel slumped like the words had taken a lot out of him.  “Gabriel just left Heaven.  He didn’t even look back.  Just let everyone think he was dead, and I was the only one who knew he was alive-”

“Hold up.”  Dean held up a hand.  “You knew he was back?”

“I…”  Castiel sighed.  “I caught him, right before he left.  I tried to talk him out of leaving, but there was nothing I could do.  He chose the pagans over me then, and again today I see how much he cares about them…” He let out a rough sounding laugh.  “Nevermind.  I’m rambling, Dean.”

“No, I get it.”  Dean squeezed Castiel’s shoulder.  “He was supposed to be there for you, and he wasn’t.  But I mean, Gabe’s kinda a dick.  And he totally ditched Sam for his kids too.”  He paused.  “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t plan on ditching you.  And Jack’s not ditching either.  He’ll be back.  He’s just trying to figure out what’s what.  That demon fight freaked him out.”

“That… does.  Thank you, Dean.”  His eyes were big and blue when he looked up at Dean. 

Dean swallowed, locked in that gaze.  There was genuine emotion there, springing from memories spanning thousands of years.  It had been so hard, when Castiel was dead.  The world had been empty of grace.  Dean swallowed hard, feeling like if he leaned forward, he could fall into those eyes and happily drown in the depths of their grace-

“Hey, thanks for the eggs.”  Sam walked in, carrying Luke in one arm and the empty plate in the other hand.  He dropped it in the sink with a loud clatter.  “Hey Cas.  Are Gabe’s kids okay?”

Castiel swallowed and looked up at Sam.  Dean felt a clench of disappointment somewhere deep in his gut, though he didn’t know what exactly he was disappointed by. 

“Yes.”  Castiel paused, tilting his head and squinting towards Sam.  “And there are no curses on you.” 

Luke squirmed to be let down.  Sam knelt down to set the boy on the floor, then stood.  “Did Gabe ask you to scan me?”

“You knew?  He thinks your kiss was due to some bond between you-”

Sam flushed red, glancing guiltily at Dean before moving to the sink to start washing dishes.  “Yeah, well, it wasn’t.”

Castiel nodded, looking down at the demigod who was waiting by the stove.  Dean got up with a grunt to help the boy cook, still listening to the conversation.  “Don’t act all coy, Sammy.  I literally walked in on you two.” 

Sam’s lips thinned as he looked down at the dirty plates.  “Well it doesn’t matter.  We’re figuring it out.  He’s got a lot on his plate right now, and-”

“He said he could love you, given time.” 

The kitchen went dead silent.  Dean turned sharply to ask if he’d heard that right.  Rather than looking at Sam, Castiel’s eyes were fixed on Dean.  He swallowed hard, locked in place. 

“I thought it was impossible for an angel to feel anything but a brotherly bond,” Castiel said, tilting his head.  “But if Gabriel can love so easily, I wonder if the rest of us can too.”

Dean opened and closed his mouth once, but he was struck silent.  Castiel’s eyes bored into him, pleading with him, and he didn’t know what the angel wanted, but whatever it was, Dean _needed_ it-

“Oh my god,” Sam said.  “You’re telling me gossip about my own thing and you guys are making it about you.”  He threw his hands in the air.  “I’m going for a run.  I need to clear my head.  Not that any of you care.  Luke, do you want to come?”

Luke shook his head and tugged on Dean’s sleeve, pointing furiously at the stove.  Dean shook himself, and picked up another egg from the carton.  “Do you want to crack it, kid?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's nanowrimo day 1 and i don't have a plot and im watching the office and i've eaten so much halloween candy that i hate myself
> 
> who pooped in michael scott's office
> 
> i want to go to bed but i need to know
> 
> speaking of, have you heard the AJR song about the office? The url is at the bottom of this note. lowkey AJR's songs describe my entire life you guys don't even know. I love them. There aren't many people I would scream for but those three boys get me like nobody else does and they don't even know me. Alas, when i saw them in concert we were like four ships in the night, where three ships were brothers and one ship was a life boat floundering past the ice burgs in the distance 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lc9eEphSxqc
> 
> i was gonna ramble more but i just knocked my contact off my eyeball so ya guys lucked out


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